A Crashing Catalyst
by Trinity103
Summary: Peter Parker's day had been going excellently. He was finally starting to move past Gwen's death and was applying himself in his schoolwork again, trying for a full ride to Empire State University. Then Captain America crash landed in front of his Aunt May's house. Even when taking a recess from being Spider-Man, it seems Peter just can't catch a break.
1. From the Sky He Came

**Author's Note:** Background info: This story picks up a few months after Gwen's death at the end of the Amazing Spider-Man 2 (although the movie probably won't really be mentioned in the story much beyond her death) and after the events of the Avengers. Sytsevich hasn't become the Rhino yet and Peter hasn't resumed the mantle of Spiderman, but he hasn't given up; rather, he is taking a break to catch up on his life. His peace won't last long, though . Also, Peter hasn't graduated high school yet and still has a semester left. The Avengers never broke up and are all living together in the Stark Tower, on call and ready for any emergencies that happen around the world.

**Warning: **AU Avengers and Peter. Very non-canon.

* * *

"_I was falling. Falling through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between. I feel for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. I fell until I forgot I was falling." _

― Jess Rothenberg, The Catastrophic History of You and Me

Chapter 1: From the Sky He Came

"All right class, please turn in your test packet and answer document into two piles on the front test. Everyone have a great weekend." As Mr. Warren called the time for the test several students in the back row groaned and quickly filled in the last few blank bubbles on their sheets.

Peter Parker grinned as he stood up to turn in his work. He had actually finished the end of semester exam ten minutes prior to time being called; most of the extra time he had gained after taking a break from being Spider-Man had gone into his school work. Now he was back as one of the top five highest achieving students at Midtown High School. With Gwen Stacy gone, the number one spot was almost too easy to take.

The smile suddenly dropped from his face and Peter quickly walked over to the front desk, dropped his papers onto it and left the classroom, ignoring his teacher calling his name. Peter put his headphones on and cranked up the volume, allowing the Fall Out Boy to blast in his ears. The battle between him and Harry that had cost Gwen her life happened over four months ago and Peter was finally getting back into the rhythm of school and home life. However, there were still times when a train of thought would lead to memories of Gwen and the time they spent together. Her death would then momentarily overwhelm him with grief, as if the stitches holding the hole she had left in his chest closed were ripped out, reopening the wound and causing the familiar pain to run throughout his body.

"Mr. Parker, please wait a moment!" Mr. Warren's voice somehow made its way past the blaring sound and Peter sighed as he paused the music and slid his headphones around his neck. He turned to face his science teacher as Mr. Warren came panting down the hallway, waving a piece of paper in his hands.

"You left the classroom so soon I didn't have the chance to give this to you. Have big plans for this evening, I assume?" The teacher smiled at his favorite student.

"Uh yeah, of course Mr. Warren: big plans." Peter had actually been intending to spend the weekend holed up in his bedroom with the door locked. He had been working on perfecting improved webbing that contained increased tensile strength. He had fallen on his patrols of the city and during fights far too often due to his webs snapping mid-swing and Peter was determined to maximize his abilities before he made another appearance as Spider-Man; he couldn't handle not being able to save someone who depended on him again. Being a hero required both ability and responsibility, and Peter wasn't sure if he was up to either of those standards yet.

Mr. Warren cleared his throat and straightened his waistcoat before handing Peter the paper. "Well, I just wanted you to know that you have received another offer. Many colleges are looking for bright young minds and you stick out to them with your phenomenal work and extra activities. Keep doing what you have been for these last few months and I can almost guarantee that you will have your pick of the litter."

Peter plastered on a fake smile and took the offered sheet. "Thanks." Despite the opportunities presented, Peter planned on attending Empire State University, assuming he could get a full ride. Money was tight enough without adding college tuition to the mix, especially since The Daily Bugle had laid him off once Spider-Man disappeared. While it wasn't the best science university and its chemical engineering program was lacking, the campus wasn't far way enough that he would need to move. This way, Peter could stay and take care of Aunt May while being able to protect his city on the day-to-day basis he had gotten used to since first becoming the masked vigilante.

Heading out of the school doors after dodging a flurry of stuck out elbows from other students who were more focused on their conversations and phones than their surroundings, Peter began walking towards his home. The crisp January air didn't bother his genetically-enhanced body very much, but he pulled up the hood of his jacket regardless, conscious of how he appeared to the other pedestrians.

The streets of New York City were as crowded as any other Friday afternoon; the one-day tourists and those who came over to the island every week for work only added to the already immense population occupying the densely packed area. Peter passed by old billboards, walls littered with graffiti and people who walked just a bit faster with their heads down and hands in their pockets as he entered one of the less picturesque parts of the city. His home was in a relatively pleasant, suburbia-like neighborhood, but it was a thirty minute walk from his school and without the advantage of being able to swing over the streets with his webs, Peter had to walk through areas of varying circumstances. A lot of the city was dangerous, most prominently at night; the booming industries and seemly endless opportunities attracted all sorts of businesses and people, many of which weren't above stepping around the law.

However, Peter wasn't too worried about New York's safety. Ever since the Avengers defeated Loki and his scary-ass (in Peter's humble opinion) Chitauri army in the highly publicized Battle of New York, crime rates had dropped significantly. He knew that the peace wouldn't last much longer, though. The battle had happened four months ago, and now that NYC was, for the most part, rebuilt and stabilized, it would only be a matter of time before the criminals realized that the Avengers only dealt with the high-scale crimes. Petty theft, muggings gone wrong and other such smaller, yet still individually impactful events were left to the police and vigilantes like the MIA Spider-Man.

Peter finally lost the last bit of tension in his shoulders as he entered a commercial district. He was about half way home and was already planning which experiment he would start his weekend-long science binge session off with. While his web shooters were important, he also wanted to start on his entry for the end of year science competition. Peter had already started sketching out ideas for a powerful reversed polarity magnet strong enough the move a BMW. Then there was also the formula that Dr. Connors had used to regrow his arm. While it backfired spectacularly and cost many people their lives, including… It could still help a lot of people if he worked out the kinks and actually tested it properly….

The ricocheting, unfortunately familiar sound of gunshots suddenly rang out from a bank on the corner and Peter tensed as everyone in the vicinity cleared out, many pulling out their cell phones as they ran to take pictures or call the police. Two men dressed in jeans and black shirts wearing baseball caps pulled low over their heads suddenly burst out of the double doors, one stuffing a nondescript flash drive in his pocket, and ran in Peter's direction. Peter stopped and leaned against a brick building next to a narrow alleyway, as if getting out of their way.

As soon as the first guy drew parallel to him, Peter grabbed the two men and threw them into the small space with greater than normal force. The one carrying a handgun hit his head against the edge of a dumpster and fell over, instantly knocked out from the blow. The second, sturdier looking guy quickly sprang up and jumped at Peter, grabbing his knife from his right boot as he went.

The scuffle was short and anticlimactic. Peter grabbed the wrist holding the knife as it came at his chest and pushed it up past his head. He brought up his knee and slammed it into the robber's abdomen while using his other hand to shove the man's shoulder to the side, causing him to fall over with a huff. While the man was still on the ground trying to get his breath, Peter reached into the robber's pocket and pulled out the flash drive, interested as to why they would forgo the money and valuables that were undoubtedly held within the bank for the plastic information stick.

The robber let out a pained grunt and tried to hull himself up to grab the drive from Peter. The vacationing superhero let his foot slam down on the man's head, breaking his nose and forcing him to pass out from the trauma. Peter checked both men quickly for a concussion as the wailing sirens that indicated the police were finally showing up became louder. Satisfied that they would be okay until someone arrived, he ran out the other end of the alley and mixed in with the crowds of people pushing past each other on the busy New York City sidewalks. A fighter Peter was, but he tried to never take it too far as to accidently do irreparable damage when he could avoid it, even when he was caught up in a battle as Spider-Man.

Peter shook his head and berated himself for getting involved as he hurried down an alternative route home, one that would allow him to avoid the blocks surrounding the crime scene. This had been the second time he had interfered in a low scale robbery without his costume on just in the last month. His body was ready to start crime fighting again, even though his mind told him it was too soon. This inner conflict led him to make split second decisions to get involved without prior preparation or thought that he knew were going to get him into trouble eventually.

Peter pulled out the flash drive he had taken from the robber and examined it. There didn't appear to be anything special about it; it was completely black with only the initials S.I. on the side in silver letters and was the size of an average 16 gigabyte flash drive. Putting it back in his jean pocket, Peter decided he would turn it into the police anonymously later. It had been an in-the-moment decision to take it and Peter didn't think he wanted the trouble of dealing with whatever was contained on the drive.

After reaching his house without further incident, Peter walked up the steps of his front porch and reached for his keys to open the door.

"Hey Aunt May, I am ho-"

An explosion burst behind him as something crashed onto the cement sidewalk leading up to the entrance in the front yard. Peter was pushed through the door and into the staircase harshly by the force of the crash.

"Oh my word, Peter!" His Aunt May cried as she rushed down the stairs and knelt down carefully beside her nephew. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I think I'm fine", Peter mumbled as he slowly lifted himself up with one hand on the steps, the other feeling around his head, where he thankfully felt no blood. He used the railing to stand up and cautiously walked back to the front door to check out what happened.

The porch was littered with rubble from the decimated walkway, but was still standing and appeared to be, for the most part, damage free. Peter carefully stepped out onto it with a hand over his mouth to block out the dust in the air and did his best to avoid the pieces of cement on the ground.

Looking up to find out the cause of the wreckage, Peter's jaw dropped as he spotted none other than the Avenger Captain America, lying face down and unmoving in the wide smoking crater that his fall created, just a few feet away from his Aunt's prize winning tulip bed.

* * *

**End Author's Note: **I have only been to New York City a few times in my life, and while I have walked around it a lot, I haven't the faintest idea where everything is located. Not to mention, I'm pretty sure Spider-Man is set in an alternant NYC, so I hope Peter's trip through the city wasn't so far off as to be ridiculous.


	2. And In This Bed He Now Lies

Author's Note: _Gasp._ Could it be…. It is! An update! I didn't know those could still happen….. After much soul searching I have come to the conclusion that I will do my best to continue this story, now hopefully with less multiple-week-long absences. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

"_The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." _

~Nelson Mandela

Chapter 2: And In This Bed He Now Lies

_Captain America is in front of me. The Captain America that took down Hydra in the 1940's and helped win the Battle of New York with the Avengers is literally only a few meters in front of me. The Avenger Captain America has just crash landed in my yard only a few meters in front of me and is possibly injured or….. Oh God, what if he is dead! _These thoughts all rushed through Peter's mind in a jumbled hurry as he caught sight of the source of the disturbance. Only the last one stood out and finally made him spring into action.

Peter dashed towards the crater and stepped cautiously over the smoldering debris before carefully knelling beside the hero's still body. The iconic red, white and blue fire resistant uniform was torn is several places and darkened black were it suffered in protecting its wearer from the flames created by his high altitude fall. It appeared as though its efforts weren't in vain, though; only a few minor scraps showed through the tears, but any internal injuries or breaks remained a mystery. The Captain's famous nigh-indestructible shield was nowhere to be seen.

Ruthlessly shoving down the shock and the side of him that was freaking out at being so close to one of his role models, Peter forced himself to focus on checking over the possibly injured man. After taking his pulse and assuring himself that the hero wasn't dead, but merely unconscious, Peter hesitated over the body, unsure how to proceed. Although the enigma of the serum that had made the soldier so resilient had always intrigued him, especially after his own abrupt transformation, Peter never had either the resources, nor the time to try and figure out what it had done to Rogers- how it had changed him. The specifics would have made his next move much easier to decipher; as it was, he had no idea whether or not the hero was even able to be hurt or if he was capable of helping him.

"Peter?" Aunt May's trembling voice brought his attention away from the fallen hero. She was standing inside the doorway, one hand on the frame and the other resting over her racing heart, looking over at Peter with her face drawn in distress. "What is going on? Those awful things from the sky aren't back, are they?"

"No Aunt May," Peter quickly assured his last living family member, "this wasn't an alien attack. It's just that a…. man fell from high up into our yard. Well, he isn't really an ordinary man, but-"

"What?" the older woman gasped. "Someone fell onto our lawn? Oh my Lord; is he okay!"

"Uh, I'm not sure, but-"

"Quickly, get him inside! Lay him down somewhere soft and I will get an icepack and bandages. We'll have to call the hospital- I hope the traffic won't slow the ambulance too much- and, and then…."

"Aunt May, please breathe! Go get the first aid kit from under the sink in the kitchen and I will carry him into the living room. Don't call the hospital; I don't think they will be able to help with this." Peter knew that the Band-Aids, Neosporin and aspirin that were packed in the kit wouldn't be of any use to the serum-enhanced super soldier, but his aunt needed something to do in order to keep calm and he didn't want an audience to witness him easily pick up the Avenger. He had to act fast; the noise had caused the rest of the street to go silent in alarm and it wouldn't be long until curious neighbors went out onto their front porches to investigate the commotion.

Once she left, Peter slid an arm under the unconscious hero's back and gently guided the masked head with his other as he lifted the taller man and settled him stomach-down over his left shoulder, going slowly enough to catch any sound that would indicate the movement was worsening a wound. The entire process was made far less uncomfortable with the help of Spider-Man's strength, but this also caused Peter to be just that much more paranoid about accidentally hurting his patient.

After gingerly walking up the porch stairs to decrease the jerking motions, Peter rushed into the house and through the front walkway leading to the main living space. Once reaching the couch, he slid the body off his shoulder and began to lay the man down.

"Oh, wait don't set him there!" Peter froze and turned his head towards his aunt, the Captain held awkwardly in his arms as he hovered over the couch. "That was the first piece of furniture Ben and I both bought when we decided to move in together so long ago, as well as the only new luxury we could afford; everything else we had purchased was secondhand. I said it wouldn't match anything else since it was so nice, but Ben was very insistent on getting it. He kept saying he saw how it had caught my gaze and that I looked over at it every time we passed through that room of the store, just like how I couldn't keep my eyes off of him when we first met." The reminiscent gleam in her eyes abruptly departed and Aunt May looked down as she began to fiddle with the old white plastic box in her hands.

"Listen to me, prattling on about the past. You set him down, Peter, and I'll see what we have in here while you check him over." Peter felt his heart melt as his aunt opened the kit and mumbled to herself about needing to be better prepared, a hollow smile failing to conceal the wet sheen forming over her eyes. He looked back down at the body he was carrying.

The dirt-encrusted, ash and blood covered suit would defiantly ruin the well-worn sofa that held so many memories and was so dear to his aunt. No matter how strong a front she put on, Peter knew the loss of one of the precious few reminders of Uncle Ben would hurt his aunt deeply. He had already caused her so much stress with his old nighttime activities; he could at least spare her this.

"You know what Aunt May? It would be great if you could go grab a wet towel from the sink and bring it up to my room. The lighting is way better up there and it will be easier to give him some privacy once he comes to. And then once you're done, could you make something to eat; I have a feeling this guy will have quite an appetite." Peter could relate to having a higher-than-explainably-normal metabolism; it had made dinners with Gwen's family rather embarrassing since his stomach kept growling even after the main course had been served and eaten. Gwen….. No, not now.

It attested to just how upset she was that Aunt May didn't try to argue with Peter, but merely turned back into the kitchen and went to the sink. He didn't even have to whip out his emergency I-am-only-stubborn-and-obnoxious-because-I-love-you pout; it was worrying.

Peter readjusted his grip and began to carry Captain America back towards the front door and up the staircase. The blast from his fall had rattled the walls and weakened the railing, creating new hazards as Peter had to turn sideways and inch his way up, being careful not to lean on the failing support or bang the Captain's head on anything. Once reaching the threshold of his bedroom it took some fumbling around before he managed to open the door. His specially designed lock was still engaged from when he had left for school that morning and it was infinitely harder than usual to type in the passcode and enter his room while supporting so much deadweight. His aunt always claimed that the entire set up was useless as they wouldn't barge in on him without knocking, but as a teenager, Peter had insisted on taking measures to ensure his privacy. He should have listened to her.

Inside the room, Peter was finally released from his burden as he laid the unconscious body on his twin sized bed. The flannel sheets bunched under the hero's weight and a few of the monochrome photographs pinned beside his bed loosened and fell onto the man. Peter bit his lower lip and stared anxiously at the bed and its occupant. Something was wrong.

With the tips of his pointer finger and thumb, Peter grabbed the edge of the glossy paper resting atop the chiseled face and moved it inches over onto the pillow, angling it so the picture was right side up and nearly parallel to the man's ear.

"Yeah, that'll do."

Peter dropped himself into his desk chair, letting out a deep sigh as his head thunked onto the wood. Or, more accurately, onto the edge of the keyboard that occupied the surface he was trying to thunk on. Groaning, Peter lifted his head and looked forlornly at the long list of t's, a's and s's that had invaded the report he was typing up for his AP Literature and Composition class. His work was sad enough without having to see how a couple dozen random letters doubled his entire paper, which currently only consisted of a hastily thrown together thesis statement and two bullet-pointed topic sentences. Sigh.

_Goodbye relaxing weekend and hello weird superhero business: I welcome you back with torches and pitchforks. Oh Universe, you are so cruel to bring this __literally__ to my doorstep before I am ready to get back in the game. Really, it only started twenty minutes ago and you have already caused me pain- don't even try to deny it, I know you placed that keyboard there on purpose- plastic isn't nearly as soft as wood. Jerk. Now I am stuck with an injured mega-soldier lying unconscious in my tiny bed and I have no idea what to do! And all you give me are letters, and only one of which is a vowel! So cheap… Hmmm… A's ,t's and s's. Avengers… T. S…..Tony Stark. Oh. Thank you Universe._

As the unofficial leader of the Avengers team- they all lived in his tower, at least- Stark was the best person to call about Captain America's injuries. Peter opened a browser and looked up the contact information for Tony Stark. It was likely that the number on the site was just a public fan service and some guy in a call center on the other side of the world would answer, but he had no idea how else to get in touch with the billionaire. Going to his place of business wouldn't help as Peter didn't have a keycard to get in, and showing up at his mansion would probably get him arrested.

Rising to grab his cellphone from his backpack, which was still downstairs where he had left it by the door before the crash, a clattering noise brought Peter's attention to the floor. A little black stick had fallen from his pocket and was now resting innocently beside his shoe, the silver S.I. staring up at him. So much had happened in the last hour that he had completely forgotten about his scuffle with the robbers and the flash drive he was going to turn in.

Peter bent down to pick up the plastic device, turning it over in his hands. Its very existence was mysterious: what was so important about the plain thing that those men would risk robbing a bank in broad daylight for it? The odds were money wasn't their goal since they didn't take anything else, so what was on the flash drive? Information, maybe? But about _what_?

Looking back at his computer screen, Peter weighed his options. He could spend the next few hours on hold as he was bounced from operator to operator and repeatedly thanked for his continued patience in varying fluencies of English, waiting for the Captain to wake up, or…

Hopping back into his chair, Peter didn't allow himself time to second guess his decision and immediately inserted the drive into his computer's USB port. He held his breath and gripped the arms of his chair, cursing himself for acting without thought again while simultaneously grinning like a loon, excited to find out what was so special about the flash drive.

Seconds ticked by, each emphasized by the steady heartbeat that pounded in Peter's ears. _Bumb-um. Bumb-um. Bumb-um. _Then a minute passed with the screen not giving so much as a flicker to signal something was different. Peter found himself focusing on the tiny people walking the streets in the picture of Manhattan he had taken from the top of the Empire State Building as Spider-Man that served as his screensaver. He checked the devices panel; the system didn't recognize any new external device plugged into it yet. After five minutes of aimlessly spinning in his chair, Peter finally gave up on waiting and groaned in frustration at the disappointing results. Absolutely _nothing_ had happened. Whatever the robbers had been trying to get, it was obvious they had stolen a dud. Peter arose from his seat to go and get his phone, the old wood floor creaking underfoot.

"Uraag." Peter froze at the moan coming from his bed and looked over to see the now conscious spangled hero raising a hand to his forehead.

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**End Author's Note:** Oh Peter, when is anything ever that simple for you…

I just recently read Hemingway's _A Farwell to Arms _(it's so much better than _The Old Man and the_ _Sea _in my opinion_), _so I am experimenting with stream-of-conscious a bit with Peter's italicized thoughts. Love it? Hate it? Don't care in the slightest and are now questioning why you even bother reading these author notes? Interested Trinities want to know .


	3. As Chaos Tries to Take Over

"_There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns. Patterns hidden by patterns. Patterns within patterns.__If you watch close, history does nothing but repeat itself.__What we call chaos is just patterns we haven't recognized. What we call random is just patterns we can't decipher. What we can't understand we call nonsense. What we can't read we call gibberish.__  
__There is no free will.__  
__There are no variables."_  
― Chuck Palahniuk, _Survivor_

Chapter 3: As Chaos Tries to Take Over

"Uraag." Peter froze at the moan coming from his bed and looked over to see the now conscious spangled hero raising a hand to his forehead. "Tony, that wasn't the button to turn on the radio. Or stereo, or whatever it is you call it."

The nerves in his brain seemed to short-circuit and die a painless death as all Peter could do was gape at Captain America. When the hero was just an unconscious body, it was easy for him to forget who the man was and treat him like any other person in need of rescuing. However, now that he was moving and speaking and _aware _it was an entirely different story; the young boy that had built a macaroni bust of Albert Einstein was coming to the surface, eager to meet one of his heroes face to face. "Uhhh…"

The reaction was instantaneous. As soon as the uncertain sound left Peter's mouth, the Captain's eyes bolted open and the hero flipped off the bed into a defensive crouch, reaching for his absent shield.

"Who are you and where am I?" the man asked, eyeing the teenage boy first in suspicion, and then in confusion as he took in his surroundings.

"Uh, er- well, this is my bedroom. And I'm… Peter. Hi." Cue internal face smack. Oh God, that had to be the worse introduction he could have given. _Hi?! He must think I am an idiot! Ugh, I __am __an idiot. Quick, say something semi-intelligible! _"You fell into my front lawn and I brought you up here for privacy. Are you okay?"_… It could have been worse. _

After a few more moments of analyzing the situation, Captain America rose to his feet and stepped over to the stunned teenager, extending his hand. "Well, in that case you have my gratitude. It was a very brave of you to step up and act as you did. I would have been far less comfortable awaking in a pothole rather than a bed, I'd wager." The blond man gave an easy smile, one that had probably been displayed numerous times in front of paparazzi, but still managed to convey sincere feelings of thanks.

"Yeah, you're welcome Sir…?" Peter swallowed nervously and scratched the back of his head, his right hand still gripped in the other hero's grasp. Everything had taken on a surreal tint for him as soon as the Avenger had woken up, but the thudding of his aunt climbing the stairs brought him back down to reality. "Ah, that's right; Aunt May should be coming up with the medical kit soon. How do you feel? Does anything hurt?"

The Captain frowned for a moment before wincing and clutching a hand to his abdomen. "How did I not notice?" he murmured quietly to himself before glancing back up at Peter. "It seems as though my body is still a bit sore from the… fall. I should heal up completely with some time and rest, though. There is no need to go out of your way for me, really."

"Do you think you could add food to that list? I can already smell the buffet my aunt has started to cook up," Peter said with a smile. His reply was timed so that Aunt May's subsequent arrival accented his point.

"Is everyone decent? Yes? Okay then, I am coming in." Aunt May pushed the unlocked door ajar with her hip and came in carrying the white and red crossed box and a tray holding two bowls of soup. "I heard voices so I thought I'd pop up with some starters. Good evening, Mister. Peter, have you checked if he is hurt yet?" She set the tray down beside the bed and stood eyeing the two men before her.

"Yes, ma'am," Peter muttered, slouching under his aunt's assessing stare.

Captain America approached the elderly lady and inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Your son has been nothing less than a perfect host, I assure you. My name is Captain Steve Rogers, though I would prefer if you just call me Steve. It is a pleasure to meet you; your family has been so accommodating to let me inconvenience you like this."

Aunt May blushed slightly in delight at the man's manners before responding. "Oh, well, you have been no trouble at all, Mr. R- Steve. We only just brought you in a few hours ago, after all. Please, lay back down and Peter will take care of you after you boys have eaten some. I am cooking up a big meal in the kitchen and I insist you stay for dinner to keep up your strength. It's just me and Peter- he is my nephew; I wasn't blessed with any children of my own, though he makes up for it in spades- so all of the food will go to waste if you leave now."

With her part said, Peter's aunt left the room empty handed and returned downstairs. Steve stared after her for a moment before looking back at Peter. "She seemed surprised I was already awake."

"Uh, yeah, Aunt May doesn't really keep up with local news or celebrities too much. She stopped reading the paper after Jameson began printing that trash about Spider-Man and all she knows about the alien attack is that a group of heroes saved the day. Superpowers and alternate dimensions aren't really her thing."

"Ah," Steve said, looking back at the vacant doorway. After a few seconds of thought over how to broach the topic, Peter decided to just go for it.

"You aren't interested in my aunt, like, romantically, are you?"

Steve's head snapped back towards the teenager. "What! No! I mean, she is a lovely lady, but I'm not- well I really don't…"

"That's fine, I was just wondering. You two are probably close in age, but I still don't think it would be very appropriate, so…"

A few moments of silence passed as the men awkwardly faced each other, before they both broke out into tear-filled laughter.

"Y-yes, I guess we are, aren't we?" Steve gasped, taking a seat on the side of the bed. "I'm still not used to that, I suppose."

Peter mirrored him and sat back down in his desk chair, letting out a few final giggles before quieting and relaxing into the subdue atmosphere that followed. The last few weeks- no, the last four months had been stressful for Peter; he had to deal with the loss of his girlfriend and temporarily giving up his mask to focus on pulling himself back together. Every time he passed by a squad of police cars with their sirens blazing, he felt a clenching in his gut as he forced himself to keep on walking and not run to the nearest alleyway to change into his Spider-Man suit, which was currently locked away within his dresser. A good laugh was just what he needed to release the tension that had been building all this time.

The two polished off the soup in comfortable silence as the sounds of Aunt May bustling about in the kitchen drifted in through the open door. Computer issues forgotten and the task of eating completed, Peter felt it was as good a time as any to give into the urge and ask the questions that had been plaguing him since first hearing about Captain America, or at least a few to calm the internal inquisitive scientist fighting to be let out.

"So… a genetically enhanced soldier. That must be a great topic to bring up at parties, huh?" Peter tried, and most certainly failed, to introduce his interest casually. Midtown High School's photography club's social dynamics did nothing to prepare him for the reality of trying to start a conversation with a virtual stranger and Peter was at a loss of what to do as he felt the uncomfortable air from before resurfacing. Luckily, Steve seemed either unaffected or simply unaware of the younger's slight unease and smiled in response.

"I must admit, I haven't been to many parties since I was defrosted, or really any such events in which I attended voluntarily, but I suppose it wouldn't be a bad opener. I take it you desire to breach this topic yourself?"

This broke the not-so-metaphorical dam that had been working as Peter's mouth-to-deep-dark-corner-of-brain-for-the-exiled-thoughts barrier. Questions about Steve's life before becoming a national hero, any memories about the procedure that had turned him into the Captain, and the events that led up to him uncovering Hydra's plot all poured out in a river of curiosity and awe before Peter could stop them. Rather than closing off or becoming annoyed, Steve was actually pleased with the direction of the questioning.

"Most people want to know about what my connection to the Avengers is and what I plan on doing now that I have started to accommodate myself with the present," Steve explained.

Peter blinked in surprise. "Well, yeah, I guess that would be interesting to know too. But, the future isn't very useful without understanding the past which shaped the person in the present to make those choices. An educated man learns history and ensures he won't repeat past mistakes, while a wise man learns history, analyzes it, and does his best to figure out how to make the future better with that knowledge. That's what my uncle use to say, at least."

"Your uncle must have been very wise himself," Steve replied, leaning forward closer to Peter.

"Yeah, I like to think he was." The next two hours were spent with Steve answering most of Peter's questions, though he dodged the more personal ones, as well the Avenger asking a few of his own.

"Who is this; your girlfriend?" the man asked, picking up the photo Peter had taken of Gwen before they had properly met. It had sat framed on Peter's nightstand since they became a couple and he couldn't bring himself to take it down even after her death. Seeing another touch the object which he had spent so many sleepless nights gazing at sent a piercing pain through his gut.

"Uh- well, that's- she is-was… er-"

With impeccable timing, Aunt May's voice rose from the kitchen. "Boys, dinner is ready. Wash your hands and get down here please."

Grateful for the interruption, Peter sprung up from the seat he had taken perched on the edge of his desk and walked to his bathroom, gesturing for Steve to follow. "Best not to test my aunt; she can just tell when someone tries to eat without washing their hands first and isn't above cleaning them herself- manually. It's actually rather terrifying."

"Ah." The two finished and went downstairs to take a seat at the table. "Oh, wow…"

"A little stressed there, Auntie?" Peter teased. The table was filled from edge to edge with bowls of mashed potatoes, corn and peas, four pitchers holding different beverages, and a hulking mass of meatloaf in the center. "Are we eating with our plates in our laps, then?"

"Oh, hush you. I cook when I'm nervous. Now sit down and eat your dinner," Aunt May huffed, wiping her hands on a crocheted dish cloth.

"This is a lovely spread, ma'am. I appreciate the effort you went to in order to make all of this food; it looks delicious," Steve said, staring at the overflowing table as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten a home-cooked meal.

Aunt May blinked for a moment before smiling at the hero. "Well, you're very welcome, dear. It is only proper to provide for an injured guest after all. Though, it is nice to know that _some_ people are still aware of what manners are," she grounded out, glaring at Peter, whom had taken the initiative to sit down and begin filling his precariously placed plate with the piles of food. Becoming aware of the held-out silence, Peter slowly looked up to see the two other occupants staring at him.

"Hum? Did you say something Aunt M?"

"… Just eat."

Settling around the table, the three took up weapons of cutlery and went to work on the mountains of meat, starch and vegetables. Peter and Steve continued their conversation in safer territory, focusing instead on Peter's plans for after high school.

"I only have another few months at Midtown and I was considering applying for a scholarship to-" _Knock, knock, knock._

"Hey Cap, you in here? Helloooo? There isn't a door and it is awkward knocking on the floor, so I'll just come in then," an achingly familiar voice yelled from the empty doorway.

_I should probably fix the front door soon, _Peter thought in a daze as none other than Tony Stark, decked out in a full Iron Man suit, walked into the small kitchen.

Steve sighed as he rose from the table, setting the napkin in his lap onto his newly filled for the third time plate. "I'm so sorry about my friend's rudeness, Mrs. Parker. Tony, could you please wait a mome-"

"No time, nope, nada. We've got to get going now, right now. It only took my so long to find you because for some reason my surveillance cameras are all disconnected in this neighborhood." _Whoops. At the time it had been necessary to keep anyone from figuring out Spider-Man's secret identity. I guess I forgot to hook them back up when I took a break… _"But the giant, Cap-indented hole outside was a fairly good indicator regardless."

"Wait Tony, can we just slow down?"

"No time! I'll apologize for_ completely_ accidentally ejecting you later; for now we need to catch up with the rest of the crew." Tony turned to Peter and held out a business card, barely glancing at the teenager. "This is the Parker residence, right? Give this to the man of the house and tell him to come to the Avengers' Tower tomorrow so we can thank him in person for his help and what not; maybe we'll throw a party. There will be pizza if you want to come as well. Let's go!"

"Hold on, Tony!" Peter and Aunt May watched as Steve was dragged out of the house by an armored multibillionaire. The slam of a car door and the squealing of tires signaled the heroes' departed.

"Uh, that was interesting, I think," Peter murmured as he also rose from the table, lifting his plate. "Could I finish this up in my room?"

Aunt May nodded absently, her attention still on the vacant seat Captain America had previously occupied. She didn't even react when Peter grabbed a liter of milk from the fridge and stuck the rest of the meatloaf on his plate before going upstairs. "Why can't Peter's friends be so polite? The dear didn't even have time for me to pack him a doggy bag…"

Entering his bedroom, Peter set his load on his computer desk before collapsing onto his bed. He had just met two men he'd idolized since he was a kid in one afternoon. One was the most relatable, amazing guest in existence, and he was pretty sure the other had invited his dead uncle to a meet and greet with the Avengers. Some quiet processing time was definitely called for. _Wait a minute._

Peter shot upright and looked back over at his desk. His computer monitor, which he had turned off before going downstairs, was glowing with the blue screen of technological death. Standing up, Peter approached his desk and slowly sat down.

"What is this?" The screen flickered and three words appeared, causing Peter to grip the arms of his chair and let out a curse. "Not good."

The word Disclaimer sat in bold at the top of the screen and two boxes were placed below it; one read Accept, the other Decline. Peter tried to move the cursor with the mouse, but nothing happened. Reaching down, Peter held the power button for ten seconds. The computer remained on, even when he pulled its power cord from the wall socket.

He looked over at the flash drive still plugged into his desktop. "This is all your fault, isn't it?" Glancing back at the screen, Peter used the keyboard arrows to click the cursor onto Accept. "Fine, let's see what you have for me, shall we?" He pressed enter.


	4. Soon We Need to Learn to Fly

**Author's Note: **I've been in a bit of a rut with this story and I still haven't quite gotten out of it yet. I'm hoping that posting something will act as a catalyst to my writing in itself. I have an idea for where I'm taking this, but any suggestions that will get me there quicker would be appreciated. Sorry for the wait!

* * *

"_Titles are important; I have them before I have books that belong to them. I have last chapters in my mind before I see first chapters, too. I usually begin with endings, with a sense of aftermath, of dust settling, of epilogue." _

-John Irving

Chapter 4: Soon We Need to Learn to Fly

_Enter_

_**Hello.**_

Peter stared at the screen. Was the program… greeting him? Leaning back, he peaked at the Stark Industries camera pointing at his and his adjacent neighbors' homes. The front lens was still duct-taped over and the red protruding wire was cut. Looking back at his monitor, Peter cautiously typed back a response.

_**Hi?**_

_**What is your name?**_

Peter paused. Was he really going to answer a computer program?_** Spidey. Yours? **_Oh, yes. _This is incredible._

_**[Please insert preferred title]**_

_**Huh? **_

_**My name is [Huh?]! It is a pleasure to meet you!**_

"….Fine. Just, whatever."_** What is this?**_

_**Please wait one moment. Your serve is being scanned for malware and other dangerous suspect before proceeding- any infractions found will result in an immediate termination of the physical medium and the surrounding space up to a twenty square meter area. Loading… loading… **_

"Shit, shit, shit!" Peter cursed. His hands flew to the keyboard and he began typing out every code hack and system override sequence he could think of. His _aunt _could be within that range, and the creaky old floorboard _above _his sweet, _unguarded aunt's head _was definitely in the allotted zone.

Peter froze when the computer dinged, waiting.

…_**loading…loading… Scan successfully complete. Welcome to Keylogger's Cloud of Convolute. The eternal damnation of THEM awaits. Your requested files on [what is this?] are being downloaded now: **_

…

_**Scarred and Sacrificed: The True Story of the Mercenary Deadpool**_

_**A Relic From the Ice Age: Captain America's Tragic Dive and Miraculous Recovery**_

_**Evolution or Man-Made Monster?: Wolverine's Origins**_

_**Flying Tin Can: The Tony Stark Edition**_

A variety of full-length articles popped up onto the screen, all centering around the various heroes, villains, and ambiguous characters that had been appearing before the public eye in the last few decades. Several of the works Peter recognized from his own research he had conducted after becoming one of the aforementioned heroes, but many were unpublished pieces that held sensitive information, such as personal pasts and lists of weaknesses. Peter felt a bundle of amazement and trepidation held together with a red bow of utter disbelief. The page that concerned him the most, however, was the one about Spider-Man- the one revealing his secret identity.

_**A Legend Born From a Bite: The Kid behind the Mask**_

_**One day high school student Peter Parker walked into Oscorp Industries a boy and emerged as something else: a masked menace, a vigilante, an arachnid, a hero. Spider-Man. Bitten by an untested, genetically altered species of spider, he gained certain traits affiliated with this animal such as enhanced strength, speed and agility, and an acute sense of incoming danger originating in his ear canal. Shortly after this transformation, Parker lost his uncle to a petty criminal(?) and began using his powers publicly under an alias and armored in blue and red spandex. Since then, this new hero has managed to…**_

The article went on to fill up three pages of text, repeating 'Parker then" and 'Parker saved' over and over. His vision narrowed onto those sections, his brain highlighting the words he prayed he'd never see together on a work not written by his own hand, or at least not any time soon. Every time he saw his real name were 'Spider-Man' should have been, the knot in his stomach grew tighter and tighter. Questions of _how did they-,_ _what did I do-,_ and _where did they see-_ raced through his mind, but he focused on the most important one: _who?_

At the bottom of the page, in place of the original author, editor, or publisher, a single line claimed the document.

_**The truth will be told; blood will be spilt; they all will fall.**_

Scrolling through, Peter saw that all of the web pages, online newspaper articles and blog posts were signed with the same ominous parting line. The very idea of having no identifiable foe was a terrifying prospect; the reality was so much worse. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take a deep breath and began organizing his thoughts into files of details and facts that he could work with.

_Who? Unknown. What? A lot of data collected and written out for general consumption, evidently by the same author; though, from what I can tell, the majority of the documents haven't made the leap from writer to the public eye yet, or else there would have been a huge commotion about them. When? Over a long stretch of time dating back to before my entrance into this world, it would appear. Even information on Steve Rogers before he became Captain America was included. How? Through exceedingly_ _unscrupulous methods, I'd wager. Serious shady shit. Response? … Destroy the drive with a hammer? Hide it under the bed? Give it to the police? Hide myself under the bed? So many options… _

After thinking everything over, Peter felt more confused as to why all of this information was on a flash drive locked in a random bank than worried about the implications of his secret being known. Someone must have hired the two robbers to obtain the drive since neither of the men struck him as a professional mastermind, which meant there likely weren't any other hard or digital copies. But no matter what course he took, there was no way that article about Spider-Man was staying on the flash drive. In the words of the most successful world-destroying race on social media, it needed to be exterminated. And some purely-for-professional-interest research needed to be done. As for what to do with it afterwards… he was invited to meet with Tony Stark tomorrow, and it was the man's company's drive…

"Aunt May, could you bring me up a cup of coffee please?" Peter called towards his open door without removing his eyes from the screen.

"Of course, dear. I thought you hated coffee on the weekends, though. Do you have an exam scheduled on Saturday I'm not aware of?"

"Nah, just an independent study project I'm working on. Thanks, love you. And leave the pot when you come up."

_**The Big, the Bad, and the Hulk**_

_**Batman's Avian Sidekick: Robin's Carney History**_

_**Teenage Hormones plus Actual Fire: A Deadly Concoction at the Xavier Institute **_

"I am not enjoying this… just scientific curiosity… pfft ha ha!"

"If Steve were still here I'm sure he'd come down to get his drink instead of making me climb these forsaken stairs…"

~ The Next Day ~

Peter dashed through the rain and occasional hail with his skateboard over his head and his father's leather briefcase plastered to his chest. After cashing twice while trying to skate over sidewalks that were littered with potholes disguised as shallow puddles, he had given up and decided to use the board as an unfortunately ineffective umbrella. The subway entrance was still five more blacks away.

In a true New York City fashion, the one day Peter actually minded taking on the appearance of a drowned rodent was the first day in a month a storm designed to grace the city with its presence. Since the thunder clouds had merely seemed like a foreboding, but far away presence when he left his house with a kiss on his aunt's cheek only ten minutes ago, he was without protection beyond his uncle's old gray suitcoat.

_I'm late, so late! There wasn't a set time or anything, but I think eight thirty in the evening is pushing the unofficial imaginary envelope a little too far. The articles were so interesting, the coffee so addictive, and then it was midnight, and two in the morning, then noon, I was just going to take a short nap and- Ouch! _

Peter flipped and landed in a crouch several feet up on the building wall in a narrow alley he was cutting through, his skateboard clattering to the ground and his father's case still clutched to his chest with one arm. He sent a glare at the general vicinity of the object that had tripped him in the middle of his mad dash as he slowly slid down the wet brick and dropped to a stand. Walking over in grab his board, Peter turned and prepared to deliver a powerful lecture he didn't have time for on manners to an inanimate, unimpressed metal pipe or other piece of alleyway trash when a light from the street caught the object and reflected a red and blue glint in his eyes. There, hidden halfway underneath a dumpster, was The Shield- Captain America's iconic tricolored weapon. Peter looked at the circular, canopy-shaped shield, then at his skinny, wheeled skateboard, and grinned. _How lucky._

Peter finished his sprint through the rain and occasional hail with a blessedly effective shield over his head and his father's leather briefcase plastered to his chest; his skateboard was left webbed to the underside of a McDonald's dumpster. The subway ride was awkward since the businessmen returning from their late jobs and the homeless twenty-four seven riders kept staring at his umbrella, but by the time he made it to the front steps of the Avengers' Tower he had dried out enough to make a relatively squeak-less entrance.

This was it; the headquarters of the Avengers Initiative, the starting point of the project that had brought together a group of heroes and turned them into a team- a singular, unstoppable hero. _Okay, no time for a Parker freak-out. Have to get into Spider-Man mode. Objective: meet with Tony Stark (limit of two questions- one hero related, one free choice), return the flash drive I happened to find laying on the street on the way over and which files I did not explore and make copies of, meet with Steve and return his shield I actually did find laying in the street. Then gracefully retreat. Oh man, I'm so not ready for this… But Spider-Man is. _

"Uh, excuse me?" Peter said as he approached the front desk. The young blond receptionist continued to type on her laptop with her earbuds that were spouting music Peter could hear from where he was firmly in place, blowing a pink gum bubble absentmindedly. "Well, I have a meeti- a… yeah, meeting with Tony Stark today-ish and- hey, are you listening-"

"What!" the woman looked up and snarled. She shot to her feet, causing the earplugs to fall to the floor, and pulled out a gun with the arm that had previously been under the desk and pointed it at Peter. "You think you can just come in here and rob the place, huh? You think I can't handle another one of you vermin? I have a collection of your kind's skulls in my living room; the eye sockets serve wonderfully as pencil and cup holders, especially Jerry's. Do you want to be the fifth _mishap _this weekend, little boy?

Peter stared in mild horror, and with no small amount of amusement, at the panting woman. "No, I really just have an appointment which I think I'm already late for and… I come in peace?"

"Oh." Sitting back down, the receptionist laid the gun on her desk gently and went back to typing. "Yes, here you are. A general get-together scheduled today with Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers, put in by Mr. Rogers last night. And I see you have found his shield, too." She smiled happily at Peter. "There has been a ruckus going on about that, so I'm sure he'll be glad to have it back. Please make your way to the elevators on your right. Press the button for the ninety-sixth floor and put in this code." A pink sticky note with an assortment of digits was placed into Peter's open hand. _When did I reach out my hand? _"The Avengers usually tend to gather on that floor when they're not out. Please sign this waver excluding Mr. Stark from liability for any injuries you may receive while on these premises. Thank you!" _How did that pen get in my hands? That certainly looks like my signature. Good lord, what is she saying now? "_… decapitation or death by marshmallow, for example. Any attempt to access another level of the building will result in the immediate termination of your brief invitation here. Have a wonderful time, honey."

"… Yes, thank you. Ninety-six? Yeah, got it, thanks." Peter turned and started to walk away. "What a terrifying woman, though she seems great at her job. Kind of like Gwen was…"

"Your right, sweetie."

"Yes, right!" Peter walked back past the desk and ignored the receptionist's eyes, ducking his head down as he speed-walked to the spotless glass doors that promised no protection for his red cheeks.

He pressed the button for the ninety-sixth floor, punched in the code when a keyboard slid out, but decided it was best to just wait quietly in the corner for the rest of the ride when a scanner asking for blood identification followed. _I'm going to meet them, all of them, yes, yes, ye- no. Focus, stay calm. Count. Floor 35, 36, 39, 42, man this elevator is fast- _Bing… _Did my phone just ring? _Bing… _But I turned my phone off before I left my house._

Reaching down, Peter pulled his phone from his damp pocket and glanced at the screen. It announced two new messages from an unknown caller.

_**Hi!**_

_**It's me again!**_

Peter eyed the messages for a moment before shaking his head and moving to put his phone away. Then it binged again.

_**I hope you aren't ignoring me. **_And again.

_**Are you mad at me? **_And again.

_**Look, I programmed my own contact into your phone! Isn't that neat?**_

"What the…" Peter mumbled as he stared at the caller ID. _**How did you get into my phone you little virus?**_

Bing. _**Yeah, you responded, Spidey! You found me, and you named me, so now I'm going to be with you all the time =)**_

"Bing one more time. Seriously, I dare you. See if I won't throw you out the ninety-sixth floor's window." When a ring sounded in the elevator, Peter felt more than ready to carry through with his self-destructive threat; except, the noise didn't come from his phone.

"I don't care what you have to say Clint, I can't deal with you right now- Who are you and what are you doing here." Peter couldn't remember the last time he had been at the receiving end of a gun to his face twice in the same hour without having his red mask in place as a barrier. Honestly, it still felt like one big joke, curtesy of the Universe.

* * *

**End Author's Note:** And the first stanza is completed:

_From the sky he came,_

_And in this bed he now lies,_

_As chaos tries to take over,_

_Soon we need to learn to fly_

Is this a (homemade and crappy) poem fic? No. Will I do my best to make it into one through the titles and without sacrificing plot? Heck yeah I will.


	5. Heroes of the Old Do Gather

**Author's Note: **Abide by the rating please: mild language ahead.

* * *

_Buttercup: "You mock my pain." Man in Black: "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." _

–Princess Bride (1987) (AN: I quote this because I can)

Chapter 5: Heroes of the Old Do Gather

(Informally: A Superhero Slumber Party)

"I don't care what you have to say Clint, I can't deal with you right now- Who are you and what are you doing here."

"…Umm…"

"I won't ask again so nicely: who _are_ you and why are you here?"

Peter crossed his eyes and stared down the barrel of the gun to the angry Russian woman pointing the weapon at him, pondering his options_. This must be Natasha Romanov, A.K.A. Black Widow. 'Huh' had some interesting articles about her… Hmm, while I want to think that a member of the Avengers, a team dedicated to fighting for the protection of the human race and the upholding of justice and such, wouldn't point a loaded gun at an unarmed civilian, I don't think a professional spy would carry a dummy firearm… And man, she looks pissed… Oh, wait, I have the perfect prop for this. _

Raising the arm that wasn't carrying his doomed phone, Peter ventured, "I come in peace?"

"Hey Nat, I'm really- no, I'm not at all sorry, but I do have apology cookies- Hey, isn't that Cap's shield? Great, he's been freaking out about that all day. Come on in kid, take a seat!"

The assassin lowered her gun a fraction and turned her head slightly, peering over her shoulder at the approaching man. Peter flinched back a bit as he felt his spider-senses start to scream at him when a small smirk pulled at her lips and a sharp glint entered her eyes. "Such inconsiderate dismissal of a lady is unbefitting of an American gentleman, Barton. Don't worry; I will take the initiative to help you correct your flawed etiquette."

The next few minutes would have probably haunted Peter for weeks to come based off what he'd read about the Russian, and he mentally patted himself on the back for his quick thinking as he stared at the oddly pristine elevator floor in the corner he was crouched in, hands over his ears, for saving himself from increasing his already undoubtedly elephantine future psychiatric therapy bills. _Sheesh, I can see my own reflection in the tiles; this floor is way too shiny for a communal elevator. Well, there are a lot of floors, so maybe there is a need for excessive cleanliness since some might spend tons of time in here during the rides. That would explain the flat screen and Wii… _"Bing". _Mute the phone, mute it! Mustn't bring attention over here. Pay no mind to the clothed lump in the corner and continue on with your own battle of which I'm not a part of. _

A minute later the faint sounds of a likely one-sided fight faded from behind him, leaving only the chorus of the Little Mermaid theme song playing in place of elevator music. Removing his hands from his ears, Peter bowed his spine and tipped his head back to check for any continuing violence and survey the resulting damage. When his inverted view reveled no scarlet-haired mercenaries and only a body lying face down on the carpeted ceiling next to a plate of untouched cookies, Peter righted himself and gratefully unfolded his body from the unholy corner before stepping out into the hallway with the Captain's shield held in front of him. He stopped once the prone body was at his feet and stared down at the trickle of blood coming from underneath the head in mild concern.

The downed man abruptly twisted his neck to peer up at Peter in earnest. "Give it to me straight Doc; am I gonna live?"

Peter leaned down to scrutinize the man's face closely, taking on his newly assigned persona with pride. "I don't know, that split lip looks like it could be infected. But with some medicine…"

"Yes?"

"And a few days rest…"

"Uh huh?"

"And a cat scan…"

"Right?"

"And a jug of peanut butter…"

"…ok…?"

With a sympathetic exhalation, Peter jerked up and stared down his nose at his patient. "There's no cure. I'm sorry, but know I'll take excellent care of your cookies after you're gone."

Clint widened his eyes pitifully at the stranger. "You dick." Then a burst of laughter sent the archer rolling across the floor, with care so to avoid trampling his treasured plate. "He joked back, he actually played with me and joked back. He didn't kick me in the ribs, or try to mute me with the TV remote, or tell JARVIS to eternally banish me from the tower, or threaten to put a bar of soap in my mouth," was gasped out between delighted giggles.*

"You have horrible friends," Peter observed as he finally took in the room he had arrived in. It looked comfortable, lived-in; there was a wide open space with a high ceiling in front of the elevator doors containing a series of mismatched couches and recliners with blankets thrown over them surrounding a television overhanging a redbrick fireplace. Facing the elevator doors, to the left a large kitchen area broke off with the floor switching from dark carpeting to cork to mark the change, and to the right a hallway lead farther into the building. Overall, surprisingly domestic. Hearing the torrent of laughter beginning to subside, Peter took the chance to help the hero from the floor and lead him to one of the chairs, leaving the shield and his case leaning against one of the ottomans.

"Don't put me on the red caquetoire; its Nat's, and if I bleed on it she'll _know_ and I'll be _dead_."

"All right, whatever," Peter murmured, redirecting himself towards a white couch before dumping the man on it and taking a seat. He shrugged at the startled gasp and following glare. "No use pampering a condemned man."

"Dick." Clint settled himself in before responding to Peter's previous statement. "Friends, co-workers, partners, whatever you want to call them- eh, they aren't so bad. They could be worse. Have you ever met Deadpool?"

"Not in person, no." _Yet._ "Why, what is he?"

"Worse."

"Ah." _Getting cancer and then joining the Weapon X program would drive anyone crazy. But I really wish I had known about him before I designed my suit… we look like fraternal twins whose mother wanted identical twins and is in denial. _"Still, you did just get your ass handed to you by one of them over… whatever; that's not very team spirit-y."

"Well, Nat was pretty pissed about…" _cough "whatever, _and besides, she is actually one of the easier ones to deal with."

"Really?" Peter cocked an eyebrow.

"Yessir. She doesn't turn into a green rage monster when I irritate her, at least. And once she catches you, all you have to do is stay still and play dead fish until she gets bored, which usually only takes a minute or two, and then her ire is acquitted."

"It's play possum."

"What?"

"… Never mind. That still doesn't sound 'easy' to me."

"Why are you worried about it?" Clint grinned. "Does she scare you?"

Peter thought about the many horrors he had faced as Spider-Man: the thieves and murderers, the mutated Dr. Connors, Harry's transformation into the Green Goblin, the death… then he thought about the look in Natasha's eyes before he'd turned away. "Yes."

"That's a healthy attitude," Clint intoned. "But she does have some mercy, you know. It's not entirely death and doom around here all the time."

"Ok."

"Yeah."

Peter stared contemplatively at Clint for a minute. "The mercy you're talking about is her sparing the cookies, right?"

"Yeah."

"Ok."

The quiet that settled over them wasn't the same as what he had experience with Steve, but it was still oddly comfortable. And so was the recliner. Peter could easily imagine relaxing after a night out on patrol as Spider-Man, sinking into the warm leather, closing his eyes…

"Hey." Peter's eyes shot open and he glanced over at Clint. "I don't mean to bring up any traumatic memories, but really; who are you and what are you doing here?" _Oh yeah. I'm here for a reason. I was going to…_

Before Peter could answer, a dinging herald the arrival of a new load from the elevator. It was not a quiet one, and the group left Peter silently reeling from his seat.

"- and that is how human children are born, big guy."

"I understand; many thanks for the clarification, Man of Iron. I've spent so much time here as of late, yet I did not realize the reproduction process was so different on Earth than in Asgard."

"Tony, please stop messing with the god. Thor only just got here last night."

"Aw, come on Spangles, it's all in good fun. Back me up here Brucey."

"… Who is that sitting in my chair?"

All eyes turned to a curled up Peter, who had taken to humming the Disney tune that the damn elevator had gotten stuck in his head under his breath in order to calm down. He wasn't quite there yet, so he let the party of grown men continue squabbling among themselves.

"Ah," Steve smiled upon spotting him, "hello Peter, how are you?"

"Who is this Peter?" Thor asked

"Yea, who is he?"

Steve turned a disapproving eye onto Tony. "You just met him yesterday. You invited him over to the Tower for helping me recover from the injuries _you_ caused, Mr. Stark. I just mentioned him in the elevator a minute ago!"

"Ooh, I got a 'Mr. Stark'. Does that mean I'm in trouble?"

The Captain gritted his teeth. "_Yes_."

Tony gasped. "Oh no!" He dived behind Bruce in a bid for safety. "Hide me Bwucey! The mean swolders gunna huwrt me!"

"Is that so?" Bruce mused, glancing over his should at Tony. "Maybe I'll help him."

"Traitor! Defector! Renegade!"

Peter finally felt his brain come back on line and hurriedly mentally went over everything he had heard. He turned to Thor, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Excuse me, but you arrived back on Earth last night, right?"

The god beamed at Peter. "That is indeed correct, human child."

"Does your appearance have anything to do with the abrupt rainstorm today?"

"Of course," Thor thundered. "After many nights spent in Asgard leading up to and in the wake of my brother's trial, I was gladdened to return to this world. The skies recognized my joy and opened themselves up in acknowledgement, lending their live-giving substance to all. It is a wondrous event, no?"

Peter was unimpressed with the speech. "I had to practically run across Manhattan with an American flag-colored shield over my head to avoid the copious amount of water bulleting down on me. My skateboard became a casualty. So, no."

A loud barking laugh broke out. Peter looked at Tony and saw the man bent over in mirth.

"You used the Cap's shield as an umbrella? Oh, that's prefect! Hahaha ha haha," he gasped out.

"It's been used as worse," Steve commented.

"Uh, okay." Peter decided that his conviction to stay had definitively dwindle to nonexistent, and it was time to make a swift, neat exit. He had returned the shield, met his idols, and found out they were all very… unique. Weird. While that only made them even cooler in his opinion, Peter didn't think he could take any more tonight. And he'd only been awake for a few hours…

"I have to go now; your shield is here, Mr. Rog- Steve, so I'll just grab my bag and-"

"Hold up," Tony interrupted, raising his hand directly in front of Peter's face. "I like you, kid. I promised you a party, right? Let's throw a party!"

"With all due respect sir, I think a 'Tony' party would kill me right now."

The billionaire's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did I say you could call me Tony?"

Peter stared back blankly. "You just showed you don't like 'Mr. Stark', 'Iron Man' seems somewhat inappropriate in this setting, and I don't care what you say, I'm not calling you 'Lord Iron', it's not happening."

Tony glared at the boy a moment longer before breaking out an easy, slightly more genuine grin. "Yep, definitely like you. And don't worry, I'll keep it small; it'll be just us," he gestured around the room. "And Natasha."

"That's not helping; I've already met her. I know."

"Yes, I'll go make arrangements now. It'll just take one hour, tops."

Bruce shook his head. "You operate on an entirely separate time stream then everyone else, Tony. An hour to you equates to a span of ten minutes to a day for us regular mortals."

"I'm not a mortal," Thor ensured to clarify.

"You three, with me. Clint, stay here and make sure Petey doesn't leave."

"Why yes, I am in a lot of pain, thanks for noticing Tony. Yes, I would love to stay seated to slow the bleeding, thanks for your concern."

"I'm in the elevator, so I can't hear yoooou!" Tony stretched out the "ew" until the doors closed, leaving Peter and Clint once again alone. There was no silence this time.

"So," Peter wondered aloud, "the cookies, huh?"

"Yep," Clint said, drumming his fingers on his knees as he sat slumped over, "Jarvis made them. I don't know how exactly, but they were sitting on a plate in the kitchen this morning with a note that said if I want to live, I should save them for later, love your savior, Jarvis. They have raisins, chocolate, and nuts in them, which is Nat's favorite. I think that's why they survived the ambush."

"Good." Peter waited another minute in silence. "I love cookies, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And nuts and raisins."

"Me too."

"… Milk goes with cookies really well."

"Agreed."

"… I don't think she will be forgiving your horrendous crime any time soon, and stale cookies don't make anyone's day."

Clint got up from the sofa and made to walk towards the connected kitchen. "I'll go get some milk and plates."

"Leave the cookies here."

"… Fine."

~ A Tony Hour Later ~

The party, as it turned out, was an extremely informal affair, for which Peter was grateful for. In fact, it almost seemed to be turning into something like a movie night. All of the Avengers had abandoned their day clothes for hero-themed pajamas at Tony's tenacious insistence, which caused Peter no small amount of delight. Steve's shirt with a print of America's silhouette sporting a classic ship captain's hat and Tony's red "It's ALL Iron Hard Here" top filled him with so much mirth he could almost pretend Natasha didn't look even more terrifying covered in black widows.

When the credits for Forest Gump started rolling over the screen, a dong resonated through the room. Peter looked at the wall in confusion before tensing in panic; a fancy clock read the time to be midnight. _When did I tell Aunt May I'd be home by? Wait… did I even see her before I left? Oh crap, I promised myself I wouldn't make her worry about me like this since I hung up my mask. I gotta go._

Peter glanced around and saw most of the Avengers sprawled throughout the room, asleep in various position. He delicately removed Clint's right leg from over his lap and stood up, which caused Thor to collapse sideways onto the space Peter had just vacated. Fishing out the pink sticky note with the elevator code on it from his briefcase, he made his way to the shiny doors, ready to leave.

"Where are you going?"

Turing around, Peter saw Tony stretch awake on his personal chair, gaze firmly fixed on Peter. For some reason it made him feel like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar, even though he never actually got to eat any of them once Thor set his sights on the plate of calories.

"It's really late and I've got to get home," Peter explained quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else and face a horde of grouchy, overpowered heroes.

"Nonsense," Tony argued. "Since it is so late you can just stay over; there's enough room here to house an army of you skinny teenagers. We can have a Superhero Slumber Party! Well, except for you, of course."

_Oh, of course. Not. _"Yeah, no. I mean, I've really got to get home; my aunt is probably worried about me."

"A distressed old woman with maternal instincts? Ah, you've figured out my weakness. All right, but at least allow me to walk you out. Like a gentleman."

"You want to get away from Clint's snoring too?"

"He is the reason we can't have nice things."

"I'd believe it."

The two got in the elevator. Peter made to press the lobby button, but Tony beat him to it.

"Jarvis, bring us down to the pedestrian entrance please."

"Of course sir," a British voice replied. Peter stared at the ceiling in reverence.

"I've read about your A.I., but it is so much more incredible to witness in person."

"Ya know, most people jump when they first hear Jarvis's voice."

"I'm in too much awe to waste time on useless normalities."

"That's what I keep trying to tell other people! But they never understand."

"No, they never do."

When the elevator stopped its decent and the two exited onto the main floor, Peter felt sure he was going to succeed in making his clean exit, albeit a few hours later than expected. Then he heard the screaming.

"Ow god dammit! What kind of parent are you! Have fun rotting in prison you asshole. Why do all the delusional psychos come to this reception desk?"

"What happened Katy?" Tony asked, striding forward. Peter saw the secretary from before standing behind her desk, holding a chunk of paper against her bleeding side to put pressure on a wound. Three ginormous security guards were dragging away a screaming man and a small child carrying an oversized lollipop and a… pistol? One of the guards grabbed the weapon from the boy's hand as Peter watched. _What is wrong with the world?_

Not until the group was almost out of the room and standing inside another set of elevators at the opposite end of the room could Peter make out what the man was yelling.

"The truth will be told; blood will be spilt; they all will fall!"

His muscles tensing, Peter froze at hearing the familiar words, the phrase he had read over and over again last night, spoken aloud. Before he could think of making a move towards the man, the doors had closed, cutting off his line of sight and the possibility of answers. Still uneasy, Peter turned his attention back to Tony and Katy.

"- then after I had the guy subdued with my awesomeness, the little kid pulls out a gun and shoots me. He couldn't have been more than eight! What even, right? Luckily his aim was shit, so the bullet just scrapped my side," Katy recounted.

"Uh, speaking of bullets," Peter spoke up, eyes on the rapidly reddening white papers, "shouldn't you go, maybe, see a doctor? I mean, a doctor doctor, not a doctor like Tony."

"Ouch."

"Yeeeah," Katy drew out, also eyeing the blood. "This is starting to sting a bit."

"I'll call a car; you sit down and keep pressure on your side. Do you know if the bullet went all the way through and how far in you were hit?" Tony asked, pulling out a phone as concern started to enter his voice.

Katy grinned at him. "Tis just a flesh wound, boss man; I'm sure of it. No need to get your man panties in a twist. Sir. Does this car have a mini bar in it? I think I'll need alcohol to numb the pain."

"It does now."

"This is why you get all the ladies." The girl grabbed another stack of paper and walked around the desk, heading for the front doors. "I'll just wait outside then; I don't like the sight of blood." Based on the last, and first, time he'd met her, Peter somewhat doubted that. "Oh, and I guess this means I'll be out for a while. Good luck finding someone half as cool as me to fill in. See you later sweetie; be sure not to forget your right from your left," she winked at Peter as she stepped out.

"What?" Tony stared suspiciously at Peter. "Have you tried to flirt with my secretary before?"

Peter blushed. "If I ever tried to pick up a girl, I assure you they wouldn't even know it. I'm that smooth."

"You mean ineffective?"

"Synonyms."

"Sure." Glancing at the mess behind the reception desk, Tony sighed. "I don't have a secretary any more. I feel bare. And Pepper is busy at her own lamer-than-mine company…" He suddenly snapped his head towards Peter. "Are you looking for a job?"

"No," he answered immediately. He'd stopped being Spider-Man to avoid situations where he would be in charge of other people's safety, at least until he felt ready for the responsibility. Since he wasn't sure if he was yet and the secretary position seemed to be more than just answering the phone, Peter wasn't going to dive head first into a hazardous job. "I don't like blood either." _If Katy is allowed to lie, than I can to. Equal rights for prevaricators._

"What if I told you it pays well and comes with a scholarship to a college of your choice?"

Peter paused. While the obvious downside was glaring him in the face, there were some positives as well. He wouldn't have to worry so much about getting a scholarship to Empire State University if he was guaranteed one already. And he could hang around the Avengers more as well…

"I'll think about it," Peter finally said. "Thanks for walking me down and being all gentlemanly. It made me feel like a real lady." He made a break for the door, more than ready to escape these serious, life-altering questions.

"You start tomorrow at seven sharp!" Tony called after him. Peter waved a hand over his shoulder in response, then stepped out into the cool night air and began his trek home.

Finally alone, Peter took the opportunity to check his phone for any missed calls from his aunt. Instead he found another object in his pocket: the flash drive. _Damn, I forgot to return it. Well, I have to come back tomorrow anyways, either to reject or accept the job offer. My science project is never going to get done at this rate. _With a sigh, Peter ignored the black stick and brought out his phone, pressing a button and bringing it to life. He immediately wished he had just thrown it out the window like he'd promised.

* * *

**End Author's Note: **Yes, yes I was hungry while writing this. You are too now? Good.

*Challenge: assign the four threats towards Clint with the correct four Avengers. Winners get a virtual chocolate nut raisin cookie (unless they're virtually allergic to nuts; then they get nothing).


	6. Here to Fight a Mighty Foe

**Author's Note: **Abide by the mature teens-and-up-rating. Some violence and language ahead.

* * *

"_A hero is someone who, in spite of weakness, doubt or not always knowing the answers, goes ahead and overcomes anyway." _

\- Christopher Reeve

Chapter 6: Here to Fight a Mighty Foe

_**1 Missed Call**_

_**1 Voicemail**_

_**1,264 New Messages**_

Peter stared at his phone's screen in annoyance and mild horror. Scrolling though, he saw that, sure enough, every text message but one was sent from _**Your Beloved Little Virus Huh**_. "It's only been a few hours… that is more than a message per minute. Why? Oh God, my phone bill…"

Shaking his head, Peter ignored the 1,263 obnoxious texts and focused on the one from his aunt. He opened it was a mixture of guilt and determination, and then felt suitably foolish when he realized the message was blank. Confused, he checked his missed calls and saw his aunt had also tried to call him and had left a voicemail only an hour ago. With a tap he played the recording.

"_**Was that the beep? Lord, my hearing is not what it used to be. Peter? This is your aunt speaking. Your very worried aunt. I know you've probably gone off to that young man-from-last-night's house, to the Avenging Tower or whatnot, but some more warning about where you are going than a kiss on the cheek and a maundered goodbye would have been nice. I tried to send one of those texts just now, but I think I pressed a wrong button because the envelope picture popped up before I typed anything. I expect an eta soon mister. That means estimated time of arrival for when you'll be home. Be safe. And bring home some milk. I love y- **_Beep."

Peter winced, the feeling of guilt bubbling up in his chest and washing away any remaining excitement or pride left from his time with the Avengers. The innocently cut-off "I love you" hit especially hard. _I am scum. I am a horrible nephew. I don't deserve cookies. I hurt the most wonderful woman in the world with my inattentiveness and stupidity. Again. I have to go buy her milk and grovel for forgiveness. Don't. Forget. The milk. _

Head bowed and shoulders slumped, Peter trudged towards the nearest 24-hour drug store to pick up his penance after sending a quick text that he'd be home in twenty minutes, rehearsing possible apology candidates in his head. They all seemed to fall flat.

Once he found a suitable small pharmacy Peter stepped into the cool store and walked under flickering yellow lights to the back aisle. He listlessly picked out a pint of one-percent from the refrigerated section before heading to the front of the store and setting the jug on the counter. Before he could reach for his wallet and search for change to pay with, Peter glanced at the attending cashier and finally noticed something wrong. The guy was a youth, no older than Peter and maybe even a bit younger, and looked scared. He stared at Peter with wide, hyper focused eyes and was motioning his head to the side towards the door in spastic twitches, his hands shaking from where they were pressed palms-down on the counter. Peter felt confident he got the message when a cold metal object was pushed roughly against the back of his neck.

"Pu' your hans up and turn 'round slowly. I dun wan no funny bus'ness her', got me?" A voice growled out behind him. Peter cocked an eyebrow at the cashier, whose nametag dubbed him Linus, before pulling his face to match the kid's frightened features and complying with the demands.

_Well hello lucky number three, nice to see you today. Is it the new brand of deodorant I tried today that is attracting all the people who want to point guns at me? The company that manufactures Axe is going to be getting a strongly worded letter from me. Spidey senses, what are you doing sleeping on the job? Just because we took a little break doesn't mean- oh. _Peter observed the robber as they swung their weapon around and whispered harshly for the rest of the cash and the key for the safe in the back. Listening closely, Peter focused on the gun and let his face slacken slightly when his suspicions were confirmed. _An empty barrel. Who robs a store with an unloaded gun? Criminals sure are getting cocky these days; or maybe bullets are harder to come by. Well, at least there's nothing to worry abo-_

"Wha'd you say, bruh? You think I'd come in here wit' a fake piece?" the robber, who he just now noticed was a young woman also probably around his own age, hissed. She swung the muzzle from Linus the cashier, who was walking towards the back with his hands raised, a key swinging from the right, to point at Peter. She stepped towards him slowly until she was only a few feet away. _Did I say that last part out loud? Shit. So much for this scene ending quietly. _

"No, I just meant that- uh, it looks very real and scary and-"

With a gasp, Linus made a break for the front doors, the set of keys dropping with a clatter to the ground. The woman twirled around swiftly and raised her gun threateningly, before dropping it with a grunt and pulling out a knife. Peter's head let out a warning wave, screaming that now there was something to worry about. When the robber dashed after Linus, Peter didn't think twice before grabbing the arm holding the knife, hulling her back towards him, and using his other hand to search for the pressure point located under the chin that he'd read about. He didn't want to hurt her or reveal himself, so television parlor tricks it was. A dozen seconds later he lowered her unconscious body to the dingy ground and kicked the knife away, relieved it had worked.

"Dude…" Peter glanced over at the cashier, who had frozen with his hand on the bar to push open the front door, and then down at the woman.

"Yeah, would you mind not telling anyone about thi-"

"That was AWESOME! You totally just Vulcan nerve pinched that crazy chick. Man, I wish I'd gotten this on video; it would so go viral on YouTube!"

Peter frowned and turned his eyes to the security camera pointed at the shop's interior, but saw the red light was off, so hopefully nothing had been recorded. He'd have to double check later.

"I mean seriously, so cool…"

"Ok, thanks," Peter mumbled, feeling bare without his mask in such a situation. "If I could pay for my purchase now I've got to get going."

"Pay? Naw man, it's on the house. You, like, saved my life! Hey, can I get a photo?"

"Thanks," he reiterated, picking up the jug and speedily sliding past the boy before he could get his phone out, trusting that he could call the police on his own. Peter jogged for a while to get far away from the site of the robbery before slowing to a walk and reorienting himself. He took this time to think; he'd just saved someone, on purpose, for the first time in months. No one had died, or gotten needlessly injured, and he'd taken care of the situation quickly and neatly. Well, it could have gone better if he'd had his mask, but still.

"All right," Peter said to himself as he made his way down the sidewalk, milk in hand, "maybe I can do this. But no Spider-Man just yet; baby steps. Like getting a well-paying job, for instance."

When he arrived home Peter was met with every light in the house off except a lamp in the living room, which illuminated his aunt knitting in her armchair. She didn't look up from her work, not even after Peter closed the door and stood in front of her, gripping the strap of his father's case tightly to keep from wringing his hands.

"Eleven minutes and fourteen seconds," Aunt May stated lightly. "You're eleven minutes and fourteen second late according to your eta."

Peter gulped. "I'm sorry."

"You are sorry? Whatever for dear?"

_Women can be terrifying. But I love this one, so I must make a noble effort, for my own sanity. _"I'm sorry for coming home later than I said I would, and for not telling you where I was going in the first place, and for making you worry, and for all the other times I made you worry, and for getting one-percent instead of skim, and for-"

"Alright Peter, its ok; that's enough," his aunt chuckled, breaking the tension. Peter smiled, glad his rambling had granted a respite in his aunt's ire and made her laugh. She had the most beautiful, joyful laugh he'd ever heard.

"Now tell me all about what kept you out so late." Aunt May patted the seat next to her, beaconing Peter to sit with her.

"But Auntie M, it's pretty late; don't you have work tomorrow?"

His aunt waved her hand in the air. "I'm taking the graveyard shift at the hospital, so I'm not going to bed for a few hours yet, otherwise I'll be tired as a dog on the job. I'm covering for Janice; she's going on maternity leave. I told you about Janice, right? Lovely girl; so racy and full of life. A child will suit her."

"Yep," Peter replied, not recalling a thing about his aunt's coworker. Then he frowned. "Are you sure you should be working so late? The subway is a good walk from your work and I don't think you should be out when it is still dark for so long. I can wake up early and come walk with you."

"Oh hush now Peter, I'll be fine. Go on and tell me all about today. Humor an old woman."

So Peter spent the next half hour retelling the events of his short day, refusing to go into further detail about Steve's manners or how his behind looked in his pajamas despite his aunt's insistence. He avoided any mentions of weapons or assassins and skipped over the episode at the convenience store entirely. His aunt didn't interrupt again until he mentioned the job offer, which he mumbled through quickly in hopes she'd miss it in light of picturing other interesting images (_nope, never mind, block that thought, bury it the back with other wretches of its kind_).

"What did you say? An employment opportunity? Is it safe? Do you want to work there? What are the benefits?"

"Aunt May! I told Tony I'd think about it. I don't want to rush into anything."

Aunt May raised her eyebrows. "On the contrary, I think rushing into something will do you some good. You've been so cautious since… some months ago, and you're a growing teenage boy; you need more excitement in your life, more risks. Now, this isn't my permission to go jump into dangerous situations or try drugs, but I think you should treat this like one of your projects; test out the waters for a week or two, then keep with it if you find the experience beneficial."

Peter nodded slowly. "I was thinking of taking the job anyways. I could use the extra cash, and the scholarship it comes with isn't anything to ignore. Yeah, I believe I'm ready for this."

His aunt leaned forward. "Excellent. Now, off to bed with you."

"What?" Peter looked up, surprised. "But tomorrow's Sunday!"

"Yes, and it is almost two o'clock. You have a big day ahead of you full of big decisions. Off to bed!"

"Alright. Love you"

"You too, sweetie."

~ The Next Day ~

"I accept the job."

"Well, of course you do-"

"But I have a few conditions."

Tony stared dully at Peter. "We all have conditions. Lay 'em on me, but just remember you're agreeing to work for me, not selling your soul. That's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s business."

The two were seated in the breakfast nook, which was located on the ninety-second floor. The unhappy man in the stiff suit who had been waiting for Peter in the front lobby when he arrived a few minutes before seven had told Peter that the top ten floors where exclusively for the Avengers' use, and that if he accepted the receptionist position he would have access to those floors as he'd be handling a lot of the heroes' private matters as well. It was at that point Peter realized that the job was less about manning the front desk and more about being a personal secretary for the Avengers. It was a slightly unnerving thought.

But by then, the man had finished escorting Peter to his "interview" with Tony and directed Peter out of the elevator and down a long hall. Before leaving the at a glass door, he'd introduced himself as Agent Coulson and thanked Peter for his service and for relieving him. While finding the thanks rather odd, Peter accepted it and entered into a spacious nook. He could see the large kitchen it was attached to through a set of swinging double doors. Tony, the only occupant, was sitting at one of the booths, focused on a hologram schematic projected in front of him. He tapped the table twice to switch it off when he noticed the teen approaching, but Peter got down to business before he could offer a greeting, leading to their present conversation.

"Actually," Tony amended, "maybe we should order breakfast first, before we get into tedious details."

Peter observed the pointed look his possible new boss was giving him with growing excitement. "You mean…"

"Yea."

With a grin, Peter bent his head towards the ceiling and asked, "Jarvis, could I please have a coffee, decaf, and a plate of bacon?"

"Right away, sir," was the response he got. The sound of a coffee machine and what could have been a griddle starting over in the kitchen widened Peter's grin.

"So cool."

"A coffee for me too, J; black. Everything on the Avengers' floors is automated and controlled by Jarvis on a private, secure server," Tony shamelessly bragged. Peter soaked the information up. "Well, almost everything; none of the others can see the positives of a smart toilet. I can understand Steve and Thor's aversion since most of the technological world confuses them, though they've been getting a lot better lately, but I'm pretty sure the others are secretly Neo-Luddites."

"That… whatever. Anyway, my first term is that I want a week trial period starting Monday, at the end of which I will decide whether or not I want to stay on the post or not."

"Done."

"This is a nonnegotiable- oh. That was easy."

Tony shrugged. "Setting up a trial-run is a good idea; I would have probably suggested it sooner or later myself anyways. Besides, just because I like you doesn't mean you're properly equipped for the job. You were mainly a convenient fill-in at the time, and the job is only temporary anyway."

"Thanks."

"A week will be plenty of time to test if you're ready to take on this position- that being, if you survive the week you are ready. And the others will need time to warm up to you as well; luckily none of them seem to have any immediate aversion to you. So what do you say; wanna take the challenge?"

Peter considered his proposition. _Well, I've already decided haven't I?_ "Sure. I still have a few conditions I want to pan out, but overall I'm content with accepting the position."

Tony smirked. "Such a tranquil reaction. I know how to change that."

With that, a thin, tall white robot came wheeling out of the kitchen towards the pair, carrying two cups in one hand and a plate stacked high with crispy bacon in the other. The robot wheezed enthusiastically, set the food on their table, drove in a few circles, and then headed back through the swinging doors.

"Wow," Peter said, slack-jawed. "That was… adorable."

"Mmhmm," Tony agreed. "His name is L. U. Sir; he's Dum-E's less well-known little brother. All of my earlier bots ended up with an endearing quality about them when I was finished. They act like little children around strangers; it's so… _adorable._ I never did find a way to fix that annoying bug."

Peter smiled in response. The two spent the next hour drawing up a draft contract and then another adding and deleting addendums and working out a schedule around Peter's school hours until they were both satisfied. There was just one final particular they were in disagreement over.

"Really?" Tony asked. "_Really? _I offer you the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get a full-ride to any university _in the world_ and you want to go to Empire State? That's like having your pick of any gourmet chocolate and you chose a run-of-the-mill Hersey's. It's good, but nothing special."

With a shrug, Peter responded, "I want to stay local. I've got my aunt here, and I haven't really ever been anywhere else. Their programs aren't half bad and if I stay in New York I can internship at one of the many companies I could work for here."

"But there are so many better options!"

"I think Peter's choice is fine."

"Indeed. His argument sounds just."

"No, no, no! He should go for-" Tony stopped. He and Peter looked up from where they had been bent over a stack of legal documents brought in by L. U. "When the hell did you guys get here?"

Steve shrugged from his seat next to Tony. "I didn't realize you were unaware of our presence. We've been in here for the last ten minutes."

"Yeah," Clint grinned, startling Peter, who hadn't noticed anyone sitting down beside him and was disturbed by the oversight. "It was so lonely in our usual breakfast floor without our resident cash cow, so we had Jarvis lead us to you and it turns out we got Peter too!"

"Speaking of which, you owe me twenty dollars Clint." Bruce said. Peter cocked his head and saw the older scientist seated in the booth next to them, back-to-back with Tony and facing away from the group, examining a menu. _Wait, a menu? This is their home, right…?_

Tony put on a face of widely offended outrage. "You bet on me? What- about what? How could you?!"

"Oh, it was nothing. Really," Clint assured him, covertly sliding a twenty over the divider behind Tony. Bruce took it without looking up.

"It was a simple wager between friends, Man of Iron; nothing unsanctioned occurred," a voice behind Peter claimed, causing his heart to jump in his chest. Spinning around in his seat, Peter saw Thor kneeling backwards on his booth's bench to lean over him and Clint so he could involve himself in their conversation.

"Bells," Peter stated. The others turned to him in confusion. "You are all going to be outfitted with bell necklaces for the foreseeable future so none of you can sneak up on me anymore."

Steve frowned. "We weren't trying to startle you."

"I was," Clint smirked.

Peter mirrored his smirk. "You get sparkling Christmas ornament bells. 'Tis the season to not piss off your new babysitter, Clinty-poo."

"Only the best for me, huh Petey-poo? No, I change my mind about that; I never said anything ending in poo. And I don't like you enough to wear bells. I don't like anyone enough for that, except maybe Nat." Clint sat up straight from his slummed position and took on a more formal posture. "So, you working here now? Mazel tov, chump."

Peter ignored the rhetorical question and focused on the first part of Clint's spiel. "Why are you guys like this? Seriously? Aren't you supposed to be professional heroes and ex-killers for hire?"

Bruce shrugged. "I, for one, used to be a semi-functional introvert with multiple personality disorder. Then I spent months on a team and sharing a living space with these guys. My life took a downward spiral after that into what you see today. We all went a little crazy/ier. It gets better during missions. Pass the salt."

Tony cut in. "Out. You guys need to stop butting in on our work so we get these papers signed. What did you think we were doing here?"

"Muttering like lunatics to the voices in your heads?" Clint offered.

"Don't compare us to that mental patient assassin! Scram!"

"That reminds me, where is Natasha?" Peter asked.

"She left earlier today on a mission. But don't worry, she should be back within a few days, so you can catch her up on anything you think is important," Steve answered.

"Oh, yeah…" _I'll get Clint to do it._

Clint snorted. "Oh, come on, she isn't that bad. I was exaggerating yesterday. Caught on a high due to the aroma of chocolate and nuts! She's actually my favorite."

_Wait, how did he know what I was thinking?_

"Peter, you do know you're talking out loud, right…?"

"… Well…"

"Bing." Peter jumped at his phone, eager for a reason not to answer Steve.

_**Hiiiiii! Are you going to respond this time? Pleaseeeee respond! ... Have you considered responding yet? I reeeeally want you too. -Your Beloved Little Virus Huh**_

Three more "Bing"s immediately followed. Peter shook his head, unimpressed, and closed the phone. He had tried blocking the number last night, but Huh managed to keep reprogramming its contact back in with the same title. It had driven him crazy, but now he accepted the fact that he was going to have to get used to the idea of functioning without a phone. Or maybe now he could ask Tony for a protected, work-related cell…

"Is that your girlfriend texting you?" Steve asked with a knowing look on his face. "She sounds, as I understand it's said, 'into' you going by all of that requested interaction." Peter froze.

"A girlfriend is it?" Clint said drily. "At your age? How scandalous. You're, like, twelve, right?"

"He has a picture of her on his bedside," Steve added, having fun. Then he saw Peter's face. "Are you alright. No, you aren't; what's wrong?"

Peter flinched. His poker face had flattered spectacularly and Steve was no fool. Time to gracefully recover- with a lie. He couldn't talk about this; not now, maybe not ever.

"Well, we're not- she isn't- I- we aren't… together. Anymore." _Wow tongue. Just whoa. You suck so much._

"Ah, a separation, then?" With that Steve didn't bring up the topic again and Clint wisely let it go as well.

Peter cleared his throat, attracting Tony's attention, who had immersed himself in a conversation with Bruce.

"If we are done with the contract, I am ready to start working."

~ At Abandoned Wyndclyffe Mansion, Dutchess County, New York ~

"So let's start from the beginning, shall we?" A cloaked man draped in velvet robes sat at the base of an expansive computer terminal that crawled up and beyond the wall the desk it occupied was set up against, causing wires and metal to clash with dusty peeling crowned wallpaper in a web-like pattern. He faced away from the spectacle to stare at two thieves standing before him on the rugged red carpeting. One was hunched over, peering around the decaying room with widened eyes, while the other stood tall with his chin jutting out to push the cigarette on his lips up, unnoticing of or unconcerned with his companion's nerves.

"I sent you out on a run, a simple retrieval mission for, I believe I stressed this rather clearly, an object of great importance towards our goal. Am I right so far?" The seated figure asked, voice young and pleasant.

The cocker man grunted around his reefer, squinting slightly at the smoke drifting into his eyes. "Sure, but what happened was-"

"And then," he continued, "you two go to the bank where it, a small, unobtrusive black stick, was hidden, decide you need to take the whole place hostage in a full scale robbery, get the drive and then … what? Get caught. And I, the ever forgiving employer, bust my well-paid professionals out of jail- and did I get a thank you?- to hear that neither of you have it, the police don't have it, but a… I'm sorry, who was it that beat up my professionals and stole their one objective?"

"A kid," the main thief growled back while the second began to subtly tremble, eyes darting over the ceiling. "It was a kid that pulled us into an alley after our very _successful_ robbery. But he weren't just no kid, I'll tell ya. He was trained, n' he weren't half bad. _You_ were the one who told us nobody knew what we was doing, n' then some punk finds us not a minute after the fact and takes the prize? It don't add up to a coincidence."

"Who. Was. He?"

"Look Matty, I don't know who-"

"Don't call me by that name!" The man jumped from his seat before quickly sitting back down and rearranging the cowl over his head. "I have a title now; _use it_."

"Jeff?" the shivering thief muttered with his face still tilted upwards, but his partner ignored him.

"Yeah, alright," he grudgingly acquiesced. "Look _Keylogger, _I can't say for sure who he was since I never got a good look at 'im, but I'd say he was a Stark employee or somethin'. He took the drive didn't he? A usual thug goes for the wallet, watch, n' jewelry n' whatnot, so he musta knew that it was valuable. That help?"

"Jeff!"

"Oh, of course," the self-titled Keylogger murmured, turning his chair around and putting his back towards the two thieves. "Very helpful; it wasn't like I was targeting them already. Wait; I was. That was the whole point! But, I digress. Excellent work."

Snorting, the thief crossed his arms and smirked. "You sure have grown into a smart ass, haven' you? You wanna do a better job? Naw? Then send us again with better information n' we'll get it this time right from under those blind heroes' noses."

"Jeff!"

"What Ruddy?" The man finally turned to his now obviously shaking cohort. He was surprised to see the ordinarily stoic man's panicked expression, and his body finally began to stiffen, worry making itself known on his brow. When Ruddy's eyes slowly began to drift back upwards, Jeff followed suit.

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary," the man typing away on the board set in front of him replied, basking in the growing fear he could feel radiating behind him. "You see, I need more time to plan; don't want to go in guns ablazing and have the next batch mess it all up again, do I? And I've got all the time in the world for this. My handy little security protocol should take care of anyone who tries to hack into my work. So much time…"

"… Next batch?" Jeff asked quietly.

"Ah, yes. Didn't I mention you're both fired? Because you are." Keylogger waited expectantly for a heartbeat before frowning and whacking one of the closer of the several monitor installed on the wall. "Didn't you hear me? I said _fire_."

Ruddy and Jeff had already spun on their feet and were racing for the doorway leading to the main hall, so the spray of bullets from the automatics bolted to the ceiling mowed them down from behind. Two bodies fell face-first on the carpet, dyeing the area around them a fresher, darker hue.

"You do need an upgrade, don't you lovely?" the mastermind mused to himself, running a hand over the exposed skeleton of his life's work, his soon-to-be living computer. "We'll take some time to regroup before finding the bad man who stole you from me. More manpower, more skill this time. I'll make you all pretty, a nice body in this dump, and then we'll go get your brain, alright? A conscious of your own; you'd like that wouldn't you? Yes you would…"

~ Outside of Avenger's Tower ~

Peter sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes before glancing at his phone as he stepped out of the sliding doors of his new workplace. 8:00 PM. He'd worked hours past his originally set schedule, but the sense of accomplishment and pride he walked with made up for it tenfold. His first day was hectic, but profitable and busy and satisfying and stressful and-

The ringing in his ears had Peter tensing on the sidewalk, but before he could react a needle sunk into his neck and a bag was placed over his head. Peter inwardly cursed his inability to have a good day since Captain America came hurdling into his life as darkness took over.

~ X Hours Later ~

Body limp in a cold metal chair, Peter counted down the final seconds he estimated were needed before a man of his size would normally wake up from a low-dosage tranquilizer before twitching his body and letting out a low, confused groan. The surprisingly clean bag was yanked from his head and Peter had to squint against the expected light shining brightly in his face.

He'd woken up over an hour ago when his kidnappers were still transporting his body, but after acting like a civilian for so long he was reluctant to possible out himself by escaping when he didn't even know the party that was abducting him. It was a calculated risk he was praying wouldn't spectacularly backfire on him.

"Mr. Parker? I have some questions I'd like to ask you about your new employer, Mr. Stark. We'd appreciate your cooperation."

"Who?" Peter asked, slightly frustrated that he still couldn't focus on the blurry figure sitting opposite him across a table due to the light and feeling a headache coming on. He was fully prepared to take out his frustration on this asshat of a kidnapper. "Mr. Staaa… Nope don't know him. And Mr. Parker- that me? Can't think well- brain fuzzy- light… so… annoying. Set to death ray level." Peter made a few choking noises before resuming his squinting at the silhouette.

"Mr. Parker," the voice began again, just as calm and undisturbed as before, which disappointed Peter, "I understand that you've only just started working at Stark Industries as a-" for a second the voice broke off and the shuffle of papers took its place "-primary desk operator, and you don't know very much now, but I believe your services could come in handy in the near future. And if you aren't willing to help, well then we might have to h-"

"How much are you willing to offer?" Peter asked bluntly.

Another pause ensued. "What?"

"I prefer either singles or hundreds, all unmarked bills, of course."

The blurred figure leaned back and Peter could picture the unknown man crossing his arms. "So you'd be agreeable to working out a deal then? In that case-"

"A deal? Not so much," Peter shrugged. "I just want to know if you'll give me money." No response was forthcoming, so he elaborated. "I see no other upside to this course since you keep asking me about people I don't know and jobs I don't have, so I thought I'd turn the conversation in a more positive direction."

"So you claim to not know who Tony Stark is? That seems weak to me. And you just came from this 'job you don't have', yes?"

"Mr. Stark? Don't know him. I have an acquaintance named Tony, but I'm sure they're entirely different people. My job is as a secretary trainee, not whatever you were going on about. Can I have a phone call? Or pie? Or both?"

"I'm not the police, so no phone call," was his captor's immediate answer.

"No, but you are the head of a government organization, right Mr. Fury?" Peter grinned, a little too proud of himself. He had finally been able to make out a dark patch on the left side of his captor's face and made the connection between the article he had read from Huh about S.H.I.E.L.D. and its illustrious leader, Nick Fury. Plus he had heard Natasha and Clint talking about him the night before during the movie and Tony had mentioned the organization earlier that day (_if it still is Sunday, that is)_, so the man was still fresh in his mind.

A click brought about the death of the ungodly light to a less blinding setting and Peter finally got a good look at Fury. _Wow, the, like, two pictures of him on the web don't do him justice. He looks way gruffer and… older in person._

Fury leaned back in his seat and studied Peter. Peter refused to look back and instead assumed the best napping position he could handcuffed to a hard chair, still ticked off. "Did Mr. Stark warn you about this?"

"No, why? Ahhh! Is that jerk I totally don't know in on this? Revenge will be swift and effectively ineffective…"

"He shouldn't even know about this, but my men aren't always the best at keeping him out of our digital pockets, so I'm never sure of the extent of his knowledge," Fury mused.

Peter finally tired of his own games. "And just what is this, precisely, oh great GM?"

"This," the man (Peter decided he would mentally be christened 'Eye Patch' for kidnapping him, now and for all eternity), "was a test to see whether or not you can handle the stress and responsibility that comes with your new post. You'll be exposed to a lot of delicate information during your time at Stark Industries, most of which could endanger more than just Mr. Stark if it fell into unsavory hands, and we needed to know if a basic simulated abduction and threats could break you. You will be receiving more training on the job."

"Oh joy. In that case I quit." _First day and I get kidnapped as a training exercise? Heck no. Well, it was kind of fun… but I don't want to give this guy the satisfaction of accepting. Although, I would get more opportunities to mess with him if I stay…_

"No, you don't have to. The way you handled the situation was satisfactory; even more so than Agent Katie's first run," Fury assured him. Peter didn't appreciate the condescension.

"Katie is an agent?"

Eye Patch shrugged. "Not officially yet, but we're working on her. She'll eventually agree to join S.H.I.E.L.D. As will you."

"Lord, what is wrong with you people? No, you can't have my soul!"

* * *

**End Author's Note: **If you are confused about the robot's name, say "L. U. Sir" three times fast. Tony is a jerk. And in the next chapter the plot will become more serious, so please bear with me through the thick layer of fluff and rising action.

Also, if you do design to leave a review, which I greatly appreciate, please login beforehand if you have an account. I can't respond to anonymous reviews and I don't want to block them or call anyone out in the author's notes in order to reply, but I've gotten a few anons I'd like to banter back at and I … can't. Just a note for the future.


	7. Though All is Not as It Seems

"_If you have not been a villain at a certain point in time, you will never be a hero. And the day you are a hero, you may become a villain the next day."_

– Carlos Ghosn

* * *

Chapter 7: Though All is Not as It Seems

"Hello? No, this isn't your friend's house. No, I won't say his name; I'm not an idiot. Yes, I do sound young; it's a trait I acquired throughout my many years in federal prison after a glass shard from a broken bottle got lodged in my throat during a canteen brawl and I refused to seek medical help or stop talking for a duration. I was the boss's left-hand man, you see. Next time choose a different multi-billion dollar net worth business for your lame prank calls, or just stick to pillow fights and painting your nails." Peter returned the body of the phone to the receiver with a gratifying click. Although every other device had been upgraded to an absurd degree, Tony refused to replace the classic model phone, insisting that the 'dignity of Peter's position' needed to be upheld with the proper equipment. Peter didn't mind since slamming something down to end an obnoxious call inspired more satisfaction and gave authenticity to the situation, while tapping a button on a headset seemed too anticlimactic.

"Juvenile grade school boys and their dares," he muttered as he restored his attention to his new shiny work laptop that matched the black flash drive with silver letters in his pocket perfectly. The flash drive that he was going to get around to returning- or not. Peter didn't want anyone else to have to deal with his virus.

"That was the third prank call so far. And it's only my second day on the job! The least they could do is come up with some original material; they're using the same lame jokes Harry and I used to giggle about at the park when we were eight."

Peter began to go over each Avengers' schedule for the day so he could remind them (Clint) about upcoming important events for the day in case anyone (Clint) forgot. They were apparently told about their responsibilities months ahead of time and then didn't revisit them until a few hours beforehand. This information cleared up so many mysteriously short speeches delivered at banquets and unconventional attire worn at parties Peter had seen the heroes attend on television. Why else would someone wear bathing suit trunks to a Scandinavian Princess' wedding unless they (Clint) only knew about it after their jet to the chapel had departed?

Tony was working in his lab all day with Bruce on some project concerning further fortifying their security, though Peter theorized that Tony had actually conned the doctor into helping him on a less savory project (Peter's predecessor had left cliff notes about each Avenger's habits and that specific suspicion was printed in bold next to Tony's name on the roster). He made a note to check on them later in the day when they were more relaxed. Natasha was still in Brussels, Thor had nothing scheduled until tomorrow, and Clint- "Bing."

"Oh, for the love of…" Peter once more turned his attention away from the monitor and saw that his personal phone had made the sound. _**Definitely Not Someone Named Huh, But a Person You Actually Want to Talk to **_read on the display. Surprisingly, Peter felt something clench in his gut when he saw the words. Searching his brain for what it could be, the only emotion that he could come up with was pity and a feeling akin to… guilt? _No, that can't be right. What do I have to be feeling guilty about towards Huh? It's natural to try and get rid of a virus. Of course._

Nevertheless, Peter decided to pick up his phone and read the one message, if only to dispel any misplaced compunction.

_**Why does the TV like the remote?**_

Peter stared at the screen, not comprehending the meaning behind the question. A second "bing" signaled another incoming message, and before he could think twice about it he was opening the follow-up.

_**Because it turns it on!**_

A loud bark of laughter fell out of Peter's mouth, which he quickly took measures to stifle when the few other employees and patrons roaming the foyer paused in their hurried movements to give the person daring to express any outward sign of amusement or happiness while they were still trapped in the middle of their insanely busy workday a nasty glare.

"That wasn't even very funny. I was just startled," Peter whispered to his phone.

"Bing." _**But you laughed. Like this- :D**_

"I was startled," he further defended, but found he couldn't put any real heat behind his denial. Huh was acting like a little kid starved for attention, similar to L. U. It was almost cute, as well as pathetically sad.

Another joke was sent. _**What's the difference between a woman and a computer?**_

Peter guessed, "Everything?"

_**Woman don't accept three and a half inch floppies. **_

_Okay, maybe not so much like a kid. _Peter snorted out a chuckle and then immediately felt like a hypocritical, immature brat. But that one was reasonably good.

_**Where do all the cool mice live?**_

_**In their mousepads.**_

"Pfft!" Peter gave up his internal battle and allowed himself a healthy outburst of mirth in spite of the overworked, vengeful populace around him. None of the jests were hilarious, but they were of a silly flavor of humor and oddly made Peter feel better. The attention was nice as well; he'd felt somewhat lonely the past few months since Gwen, despite his aunt's best efforts. A thought occurred to him.

"You really are stalking me constantly, aren't you?"

_**Yeah. Are you mad?**_

"You managed to hack into Tony's internal security camera's in the lobby and tune the audio to pick up my voice specifically?"

_**Yeah. Are you really mad?**_

"Even I haven't been able to do that," Peter pondered. "I had to resort to the universal solution for all problems: duct tape. I really hope Tony and Bruce actually are working on beefing up the security here."

_**You want to kick me out? : you hate me, don't you?**_

"No, I don't hate you!" Peter rushed to assured Huh. He swiftly calmed himself down. "I was just thinking out loud about how useless my bosses are probably being. I mean, you were trying to be nice just now, so there's no reason for me to be angry at you.

_**Exactly! None of my 'jokes' are original either, and I don't know whether or not you and hairy people laughed about them when you were young, but the Internet highly recommended them so I thought I'd tell them to you, big brother!**_

Peter's smile froze on his face, then he choked out, "Big brother!? Wha- how- where did that come from?"

_**When I Googled 'person who has to take me everywhere and ignores me all the time' because I wanted to know what to call you- you didn't seem to like Spidey very much- the first result was 'big brother'. Even though I am bigger than you, to a degree that is virtually incalculable, you're still older than me, so it fits. I was born three days ago.**_

"Yes, you were, weren't you." Saying that fact aloud made Peter feel even worse for acting the way he did towards Huh. And for naming him Huh in the first place, even though he did so unknowingly. The virus, or program, or whatever- it obviously was alive in some way, like L. U. or Jarvis, and was the equivalent of a highly advanced infant in personality. And maybe like those two, Huh had a creator, a father out there who Peter had inadvertently stolen him from. But then again, Peter had caught two robbers trying to steal the flash drive from a bank, so perhaps there was no worthwhile father-figure in the picture.

_God, I sound so weird right now. I'm not trying to adopt Huh or anything; I just need to know if there is a way I can return him. _"Hey, do you remember anything about where you were before I plugged you into my computer?

_**There was a 'Before the Download'? You mean the orphanage? I didn't like that place. Do I have to go back? **_

"No, you don't have to leave. You can stay…" Peter comforted absentmindedly, more focused on the fact that Huh seemed to regard his possibly very lengthy time at the bank as child abandonment. _Was he conscious during that time as well? With no one to talk to? Christ…_

_**If I can stay, then do I also get a new name? I searched for 'Huh'- I don't really feel like an**_ _**exclamation commonly used for the purpose of verbalizing emotions such as scorn, anger, disbelief, surprise, or amusement.**_

"Uh, alright, sure. So, a new name…" A "bing" quickly interrupted Peter's jumbled thoughts.

_**Can I choose it? Pretty please? **_

_**I want to be called Viral! **_

_**It is Sanskrit for precious, and it means widely spread on the Internet, which I am, and it also means virus, your nickname for me! **_

_**Isn't that perfect; I picked it out all by myself.**_

The expectant silence following the rapid volley of texts had Peter swallowing a lump in his throat. "Yes, that's a very, very nice name… good… job?

_**=D 3**_

Still thoroughly troubled from his revelations about… Viral's possible origins, Peter once more resumed his work, and if this time he kept his phone a bit too close next to his laptop and never corrected his virus on how to address him, then they were simply minor oversights. _Obviously._

"Let's see, Tony and Bruce in the lab, need to check on later, Natasha in Belgium, Thor unattended, and Clint scheduled for a reconnaissance mission at three in the afternoon. Five minutes ago…"

Peter clicked away from the page, then used the password he was given that morning to tap through footage from the cameras, one occupying each of the Avengers' floors, until he found Clint taking a bird's nap on a table in one of the lounges.

"I'd better rsvp that he won't be able to attend."

_**Already taken care of.**_

~ Two and a Half Weeks Later ~

Go to school, arrive at work by three, answer phone calls, tell the Avengers what they are supposed to be doing, chat with Viral during breaks, wash, rinse, and repeat. This had been Peter's routine for the remainder of January into the first week of February. While he greatly enjoyed his job, and the feeling of being helpful while building his personal confidence in himself, it was still something of a welcomed relief when a distraction come along to grant him a respite from his pattern. But now, even the so-called distractions were becoming less spontaneous and more predictable.

"Listen up, I want all the money you've got in this bag in two minutes, no cops, or I shoot this place up," a man growled at Peter.

The Stark Industries secretary glanced up and reflexively took stock of the person pointing a semi-automatic towards the ceiling. Late twenties to early thirties, physique of a salaryman, and seemed to have no experience with the weapon he awkwardly held slung over his shoulder. _The usual, then. I can understand why Katie wanted to mix things up with some colorful threats the first time I met her; the monotony really sets in after number nine. Or have I breached double digits yet? _The man had likely lost his job and was looking for a quick source of income. Peter had made the unfortunate discovery, with the help of Viral, that the top result for 'how to make easy money in New York City' in most online search engines was to hold up Stark Industries' main office a few days into his job.

Stretching his neck to peer into the previously mentioned bag, Peter shook his head. "Nope, I don't see any money in there." He got a blank stare. "Oh, you want me to put money into the bag? Sorry, I must have misheard your comma usage."

"Are you playing with me?" he snarled. The man attempted to cock the gun's hammer to add onto his lacking intimidation, but failed to slide the barrel off his shoulder beforehand. The end result was a premature round of bullets that sent the would-be thief careening to the floor, clutching his bleeding right ear.

"Aw, but I had a few good lines I was working on," Peter sighed as he dialed the number of the nearby hospital, then the in-building security, and finally the main level's clean-up crew. Every ten floors of the tower had a shared crew except for the first, which had its own. "But really, why does everyone think there is money here; it's a reception desk. All that's here is my tip jar, which is mainly filled with pieces of paper from people who think they're comedians and Clint, and the three dollars I have left over from the school cafeteria. I wonder if they all realize they're just trying to steal some high school kid's lunch money."

As the summoned guards arrived to collect the whimpering man, Peter went back to his work and noticed a red one hovering over his email inbox, which he continuously checked to keep the red bubbled numbers from existing.

_Mark the date! One of our own is being discharged from the hospital and is returning to work today! __Katie Douglas__ requests all get-well cards either come with __cash__, __chocolate__, or __a mother's love__. Thanks!_

_Sent from J.A.R.V.I.S. server._

"Oh," Peter said. "Well, I guess that means I am… off duty? Free? Canned?" The prospect of having to give up his job, the nucleus of which he'd begun to rebuild his life outside of school around, sent a chill of panic through him. Peter squashed it down mercilessly. This could be a good thing; if he no longer had to dedicate his off time to superficially managing the Avengers, then he could possibly speed up his planned return debut as Spider-Man. He'd started to carry around his suit to pick up the habit again in case he stumbled upon another small scale crime like he had after his first trip to the Avengers' Tower. It would also be easier to return to his night job once he didn't have to worry about S.H.I.E.L.D. looking over his shoulder at every turn.

"I could always ask to come back and help with some temp work on occasion. I think Tony and Clint genuinely like me anyways, so it isn't as if I'll be permanently ostracized or anything," Peter mused as he sat back in his- or what used to be his- chair. "I hope. Though Fury doesn't seem to tolerate me. I probably shouldn't have intercepted that intern on a coffee run and switched his sugar packets for salt. Or made fun of him for taking sugar in his coffee. Or drank his replacement coffee. I wonder if he'll seize the chance to make me 'disappear' once I no longer have to show up for work every day…"

Peter glanced around his workstation and wondered what he was supposed to do now. _Should I just pack up and leave? I'm off my shift in fifteen minutes regardless. I should go. _

Twenty minutes later, Peter was still seated at the reception desk, watching as the daytime-only employees went home and directing a few newcomers to the floor where a new drug trial was being conducted.

"Bing" Peter glanced down at the phone sitting on his knee. _**You've got a work call from some Egyptian investors that want to meet with Uncle Tony, but I redirected them to a Chinese Christmas snow globe factory in Shandong. I can record their conversation and we can listen to it subtitled later if you want. **_Peter snorted, sufficiently amused.

"Thanks Viral," he whispered. The elevator doors behind Peter's desk to the left opened and Tony strode out, his pace earnest.

"Peter! Glad I caught you before you left," his boss said, walking around so he could lean himself against the side of Peter's desk with his arms folded. "So glad, in fact, that I won't even mention how sad it is that a lively teenager such as yourself isn't rushing out the doors to go meet up with his friends as soon as he can. Oh, wait…"

"Yeah, I've already heard about it," Peter cut in, forcing a smile onto his face and trying to summon up some semblance of cheer. "Katie's coming back; it's great! Great." Without anything else to say, he snapped his mouth shut and looked down at his laptop, playing with the touchpad. _I guess I have to give this up too._

"You're celebrating too early. You seeee," Tony dragged out, "Katie has decided to take a permanent sabbatical."

Peter blinked. "What?"

"The email that was sent out earlier? Her resignation. Apparently she found a new calling during her time in the hospital- that is, helping rescue baby penguins in southwestern Africa. Didn't even know there were any down there, to be honest. So," he grinned, propping his chin onto his palms in an imitation of childish glee, "you've got yourself an actual job now! But seriously, you can't quit for at least the next six months; you should have fought more in clause seventy-three of your contract."

"Ah, I started tuning out somewhere in the sixties," Peter recalled faintly. "Six months?" _I'm going to need to rethink my plan…_

"Mhmm. You'll want to be getting home now…" Tony trailed off. Peter glanced back up at him and saw his boss staring with narrowed brows at his PDA. He quickly looked back to Peter and flashed him a grin. "Duty calls. The rest of the Avengers and I have been summoned elsewhere for a hush-hush mission, so you're rendered obsolete. Go have a life."

"Like yours?" Peter snorted. "I'm guessing this 'mission' isn't you heading out to a bar with a group of friends."

"No, I'm heading out to save the world with a group of friends. Well, perhaps not the world, but England at the very least. I'm going off to help people," Tony smirked. "You should try it, you little pest."

Peter eyed him as he made his way back towards the elevator to get the rest of his team- and to make his dramatic exit from the top of the building instead of taking a car or jet like everyone else.

"Fine, maybe I will. Tonight." With that, Peter packed his things into his father's briefcase and signed out for the day.

His spontaneous conviction never again struck Peter as a bad idea until he was standing on the ledge of the Daily Bugle's headquarters, which he thought would be the most internally satisfying place to make his return, in full costume hours later. The only alteration he had made to his old suit was adding a thin belt that could carry the phone he used to converse with Viral; his virus had been insistent on coming with Peter, stating that he was the perfect sidekick because he only took up eighty-eight cubic centimeters of space.

Nerves he hadn't experienced since the first night he'd decided to use his powers in front of the public while hidden behind a mask started to resurface as he stared at the lit-up city street beneath him. However, Peter pushed them back down, determined to go through with his resolution.

_It's the middle of the week, there are no big events going on, and the Avengers are out of town dealing with a catastrophe hours away. This is the perfect time to start slowly getting back into the swing of things. I'll start out with a few casual patrols of the city each week, and then I'll build back up from there. I've got all the time in the world for this, _Peter assured himself.

Taking in a beep breath, Peter aligned his toes to the right angle of the roof, squatted his knees in preparation, started to jump, and then ended up preforming a back flip, landing in his original spot.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Peter huffed. He slapped his right hand over his eyes, held his left arm out to catch the air, and took a step off the building. After a few seconds of surprisingly peaceful freefall, Peter ripped his hand away and let out a whoop as the pedestrian-spotted pavement grew larger and larger. Just before he passed the sixteenth-story windows, he threw out his arms and shot twin threads of webbing at a building farther down the street. Peter pulled up on them and stuck his legs out in a sitting position so he just barely avoided skimming the ground before being flung back into the air.

"Yes, yes, YES!" With a laugh, Spider-Man let out another pair of stringed webs and swung through the cement forest of New York City, basking in the rush of feeling nothing but air on any side of him. "How on Earth did I give this up? It feels amazing!"

Peter didn't know how long he spent swinging in the night before vibrations from his waist pulled him back down to reality. With one final jump, Peter landed between two stone gargoyles that decorated one of the grander churches around and pulled out his phone.

_**If you're interested, there is a disturbance that is causing all of the police cars in the area to gather in one place. A cruiser is headed your way now if you want to listen in. Viral out.**_

_**P.S. being a sidekick is less eventful then movies say it is.**_

"A disturbance," Peter repeated, uncertain. "Well… I'm out here anyways; I should probably check it out just in case the police need a little assistance. If not, I can always watch as an educational experience. Reintroduce myself to the scene and whatnot," he decided. Looking down at the faintly lighted street below him, Peter waited for the cruiser that Viral had told him about. When it came into sight, he quickly used a web to lower himself to the ground and followed closely behind the car so he could listen to the dashboard radio scanner's report through the slightly cracked windows.

"_**-armed robbery taking place at **__**200 Park Avenue… -vere risk is present for civilians in the vicinity. All available personnel report to this site immediately."**_

Peter paused, startled, before quickly swinging to keep up with the cruiser. _200 Park Avenue? That's where Stark Industries is. Hmm, maybe another desperate bloke decided to try his luck after main hours when only the more skittish workers are present? Though I still don't think such a situation warrants so much backup._

"Ey, isn' that that place where those 'Avengers' hang about? Are we supposed to be cleaning their shite up as well now? Why can't we jus' leave 'em be to their own dirty work; it'd learn them right," a young voice from the passenger seat demanded.

"Quiet, boy," a gruffer voice growled. "We go where we're told to, where the people need us to be, and if they need us to help those _heroes_," he emphasized, "then we're going to do just that."

"Wha'ever," the other mumbled under his breath. "I didn't join the force to be a group of freaks' _janitor._"

The cruiser did a U-turn and began picking up speed as the siren was switched on. Peter debated leaving them alone and continuing with his 'patrol', but an inching curiosity pushed that thought aside. He neglected to catch himself on the next swing and instead landed as softly as he could onto the roof of the police cruiser and took a seat on the flashing lights. If the pattern he'd come to expect stayed true, there would be one or two gunmen who'd surrender quickly once the police showed up and no one would get hurt.

Peter jumped off of the vehicle when it pulled out of a narrow abandoned lane into the crowded major street that the Avengers' Tower occupied. His breath caught in his throat once he saw the chaotic mess of blaring lights, crying groups of people, and shattered glass in front of the building he'd vacated only a few hours ago.

"What…?"

* * *

**End Author's Note: **Missing Keylogger already? Don't worry; we'll see a lot of him next chapter…


	8. Interlude: The Two and a Half Weeks

**A Merry Christmas update!**

**Author's Note: **A series of deleted scenes from Peter's initial two and a half weeks working at Stark Industries.

* * *

Missing Chronicles of the Two and a Half Weeks

"Hey Clint, are your hea-"

"Die, die, die!"

"Urg, stop throwing bombs at me Tony! We are on the same team."

"There are no true partnerships in war, birdbrain!"

"Uh, Clint," Peter tried again. "I think you need to-"

"I am busy with a high speed chase. Come back in an hour."

"Or five. These puny buttons are made for the fingers of the smallest of rodents. I demand another challenge subsequently!"

"Quiet down Sparky, Clint and I haven't even beaten you yet."

"Silence, Man of Iron! I shall destroy your odd Jötunn avatar first, and then the Hawk's pink smiling ball will fall."

"Again, it's a blue Yoshi, Thor. A blue Yoshi and Kirby."

"Hahe! You two are so going down! Eat my pixelated dust!"

Peter slowly back out of the gaming room and away from the three grown men screaming over Tony's hacked version of Mario Cart. "I'll just come back later when stress relief time is over. I wonder if they do this after every mission." He glanced down at the small, unopened pack of batteries cradled in his hand before walking back to the elevator and pressing the ground floor button. "I guess he'll just come to me when his hearing aids start failing and he realizes he's out of backups."

The elevator pulled to a stop and the doors opened to admit another passenger going down. The two stood next to each other, Peter with tensed shoulders and the newcomer settled in an unconcerned stance.

Natasha looked down at the box in Peter's hand at his side.

"Ten says he doesn't notice by the end of the week."

Peter cocked his head and also regarded the innocent little white box. "Twenty says he notices by the end of the day."

"Ah." The number above the doors fell rapidly as they approached their destination. "Those idiots are yelling at each other over their video games, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

"Damn. Lost already."

* * *

"It looks," Peter started uncertainly, "like… a burrito. From Chipotle. It tastes like… a burrito. From Chipotle."

"You have no class."

Peter hummed around a large bite of meat and beamed at Tony. "Ima teenaega. Is natuera I hav' no clss."

"Oh, you think you're the only one who can act like that? I am the very definition of puerile." Challenge accepted, Tony picked up his own wrap and stuffed the remaining half into his mouth. Once it was all in he sent a wide grin back at Peter. "Twa-da!"

Bruce grimaced at the two and gently set his food back onto his tray. "First sandals, then chocolate, then sock monkeys, and now shawarma? Is there nothing left sacred that you cannot ruin for me?"

Tony glanced up at him from his protective crouch over his burrito remains and swallowed. "Have you ever been to Disney Land? I think the big guy would love it there."

* * *

A shadow fell over the keyboard Peter was furiously typing on, causing him to look up. As his job description entailed, he sent a small, compliant smile to the man blocking the Saturday afternoon sun streaming in through the windows and asked, "How may I help you today, Sir?"

Fury towered over the reception desk, dropped a piece of fabric onto Peter's laptop, and then set his arms on either side of it, leaning down so he was eye to eyes with Peter.

"How. Did. You. Do it."

Peter widen his eyes and momentarily wished he still wore his glasses so he could complete his innocent façade by pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you-"

"What you did is clear enough, and I can hazard a guess as to why," the man continued, pulling back so he could pace a short rut in front of Peter's desk, "but the how… I can't figure it out."

"Ah, you may be looking for floor twelve. All acts of scheduled espionage go through there before being processed into the archives," Peter tried.

Fury paused and gave him a close look. "Was it an inside job?" He shook his head and continued his pacing. "No, I've weeded the most daring of the moles out by now."

Peter abandoned his defense and returned his attention to his work, tuning out the man before him. He did note, however, a questionable person walking in through the front doors, putting a hand in his trench coat pocket, freezing at the sight of Fury, and then slowly walking back out.

A pair of hands once more slamming down next to his computer brought Peter's irritated gaze back to Fury. "Join S.H.I.E.L.D."

"No."

"We'll pay you twice what you make here."

"No."

"Why?"

_If I were to become a spy, my aunt would kill me. Because she would die from a stress-induced stroke, and that would kill me. _"Your laundry."

Fury slowly straightened himself out. "I will have you in my organization. Eventually."

With that, he retrieved the stained-pink eyepatch with a small heart and _**PP **_written in sharpie on the center and departed.

"I could never be an agent," Peter grinned to himself. "I enjoy signing my work too much. I still can't believe he has an entire drawers full of black eyepatches..."

* * *

_**Merry Christmas! **_

"It's not Christmas, Viral. Come on… load, load."

_**Happy Hanukah! **_

"This is not the Holiday Season, I'm not Jewish, and I'm fairly sure you aren't either. Now hurry up, I need to make the changes to Tony's schedule before his flight leaves!"

_**And have a joyous Kwanzaa!**_

"What are you doing?"

_**Breaking the fourth wall, big brother. Someone had to do it. Happy Holidays!**_

Peter leaned back in his chair with his discombobulated phone in hand and stared at the blank screen of his laptop, which he was sure had something to do with Viral's sudden bout of cheer. Tony's flight left at six thirty. Peter glanced at the clock. Six twenty-seven.

"I could run up to Human Resources and use one of their computers, but… I'm sure Miami, New Mexico is just as good as Miami, Florida this time of year. Merry Christmas, Viral."

_**:D 3**_


	9. In Darkness Shroud We Start the Show

"_You can run away from yourself so often, and so much, just because the broken pieces of you cut your feet too deeply if you stay around for too long. But then what if someone were to come along and pick up those pieces for you? Then you wouldn't have to run away from yourself anymore. You could stop running. If someone sees you as something worth staying with— maybe you'll stay with yourself, too."_

― C. JoyBell C.

* * *

Chapter 8: In Darkness Shroud We Start the Show

_His breath caught in his throat once he saw the chaotic mess of blaring lights, crying groups of people, and shattered glass in front of the building he'd vacated only a few hours ago._

"_What…_ is going on?" Peter breathed. The scene before him was obviously not a result of the usual robberies he'd come to expect, but something far more serious. As the scanner had reported, it seemed as though every police officer in the NYPD was present. Some were managing the crowd or taking statements from traumatized witnesses, others directing traffic away from the area while allowing a firetruck and ambulance through, and a few were aiming their guns at the mess that was the Avengers Tower, as if hoping to catch some twitch of movement that would give them an excuse to start firing. Although, in Peter's opinion, more bullets certainly wouldn't help the situation.

It looked as though there had been a shootout in the reception lobby; the glass doors and windows that composed the front of the building on the first floor had been completely destroyed, with shards littering the bodies that laid prone on the outside sidewalk and the interior.

Peter shuddered when he noticed that several of the bodies were in police uniforms.

He knew, from experience, that once a skirmish resulted in the deaths of one or more cops, the predominant focus of the rest of the force shifted from 'get civilians to safety and subdue the immediate threat' to 'get civilians to safety and avenge our comrades –fathers, husbands, mothers, wives, friends –by capturing the immediate threat at all costs'. While Peter understood where they were coming from and probably would react, had reacted, in the same way, that didn't change the fact that the whole situation had just complicated itself further. With the police acting unusually aggressive and searching for a reason to engage, there was a higher chance that whatever was going on would escalate and end with a bigger stack of bodies than it needed to.

_What a mess. Well, this is the Avengers Tower, so the people responsible are probably after something relating to the Avengers. And why aren't they here dealing with this? They go all over the world to solve problems, so something this close to home should be an easy- oh. Tony said they had a mission. The Avengers left for a mission. In England. Hours ago. Well, maybe not actually England, but somewhere overseas and far away enough for them to be too late to help. So, the Avengers go MIA and then someone breaks into their base a few hours later? The timing is too perfect… too planned._

"Holy mother of- is that Spida-Man? What on Lord's Earth do ya think you're doin' up- get down from there and put your hands where I can see 'em!"

Jolted from his thoughts, Peter looked down and saw that the car he'd hitched a ride from had parked a fair distance outside of the alleyway. The policeman who'd been in the passenger seat, the younger one who didn't strike Peter as a huge superhero fan based on the conversation he'd overheard, was now staring up at him, swinging a set of metal handcuffs around his thumb.

After quickly glancing back and forth to check if anyone else had taken up a spot on the wall he was sticking to, Peter glanced back at the cop, raising both hands innocently. "Who, me?"

The glare he received was less than amused. "Do ya see anyone else with a poorly craft'd spida in the center of their chest?"

"You want to arrest me for my lacking fashion sense? And here I thought red and blue spandex was _in_. Captain America is going to be so disappointed."

"Heh, nah. Try public endangerment, vandalism, _murder_, resistin' arrest, assault of a-"

"Christ, Bill, what are doing back here? We've got a serious situation out here- _well._" The driver from before paused in his efforts to collect his distracted partner once he caught sight of the vigilante standing horizontal with two feet firmly on the wall and knees bent. Peter tensed in preparation to spring from the wall because, unlike the other cop who didn't look like he could be more than a year out of the academy, this man had the presence of a seasoned veteran who knew how to use the issued gun at his hip to protect his city. However, he just took his cap off, ran a hand through his silvering blond hair, and offered a nod as he put it back on. "Sir. Glad to have you back. We could really use some help here."

"Andy, don' converse with the fugitive. Under the regulations of New York State law, we're authorized to take ya into custody and-"

"Thanks. It's a pleasure to be back. Though, I certainly could have picked a less, uh, eventful day, huh? And call me Spider-Man, not sir," Peter responded, genuinely glad to have at least some support in the law enforcement. He was also interested in how red, or now purple, the younger cop's- Bill's- face could get.

"You don't know the half of it. All day we've been getting more than the usual number of calls about drunken robberies, failed car thefts, attempted muggings, attempted rapes, unprovoked attacks- even for us, it's been crazy. Everyone is run ragged, and now we have this to deal with. No idea what's gotten into people these past few days, honestly."

Peter frowned. He had been patrolling around the city for a good portion of the evening, and even though he'd been preoccupied by the thrill of being Spider-Man again, his senses should have picked up at least a few of the crimes Andy was recounting to him. But they'd been eerily silent the whole night. And the crimes he mentioned- unsuccessful, but still requiring attention and manpower- sounded more like distractions than anything else. If there was no real intent for success, and therefore no real danger for anyone, then Peter's senses would have stayed dormant. _A lot of forethought went into today, but to accomplish what? What is the end goal here?_

"Speaking of, have you heard anything about what exactly is going on at Stark In- the Avengers Tower?" Peter asked. The police scanner hadn't been very descriptive, but maybe Andy had heard something from the other officers before he came to get his partner.

"Afraid not. Nobody seems to have any idea who this group is or what they want, though it's obvious they're willing to use lethal force to get it. They've got hostages; no one has exited the building alive since the perps entered, so anybody who was already in there is either captured, hiding, or dead. As far as I know there haven't been any demands issued. If you want more specifics, you'll have to go to the higher ups. They're probably preparing for the SWAT team's arrival, or the FBI, or the goddamn Army- whoever the hell is supposed to be dealing with this."

"Huh." Peter swallowed, weighing the risks and benefits of actually asking for information versus jumping into the fray blind like he used to. "Think they'll have any donuts? I could go for some calories right about now."

"That is an offensive and derogatory stereotype," the older man intoned. Then he smirked. "But yeah, probably. Hope you like glazed. It's the chief's favorite."

"_Andy_, don' _banter _with the fugitive!" growled the other officer, who, Peter realized, had been trying to read him the Miranda warning while he'd been speaking with Andy.

"That's enough from you, boy," his partner commanded. "Spider-Man was cleared of all charges against him months ago after he saved the city _for the second time. _You have no reason to arrest him, and even if you did we have a far bigger problem on our hands. Now, put those cuffs away and come with me. We've been ordered to assist with crowd control."

Bill made a move as if to protest, but another warning look had him spitting out a reluctant "_fine" _before making his way out of the alley and back into the chaos.

With a weary sigh, Andy turned back to Peter and gave a final nod. "You need anything else, just ask. Most of us don't share the same views as that kid."

"Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I only hope I can help out with this." Once the officer also left to join his partner, Peter flopped back against the wall and let out a breath. "Well, I guess I should …what? Nope, no more indecisiveness, Peter. Man up. Spider up. Whatever. I'll figure out what's going on and put myself to use in any way that I can, just as I've always done. For Uncle Ben. For Commissioner Stacy. For Gwen." Letting out a deep breath, Peter nodded to himself and pushed off from his perch. "All right; let's do this."

His leap sent Peter soaring over Andy's cruiser and onto another one parked on the other side of the street. Ignoring the startled gasps from the officers around him and the excited uproar starting in the crowd surrounding the quarantined area, Peter began jumping from car to car until he landed on one of the vans making up the perimeter of a cleared space several hundred yards in front of the tower where the police officers and officials had set up a base of operations.

Most of the people in the circle scattered away from Spider-Man's sudden arrival, only a woman in her mid-forties remaining stationary in the clearing left by her companions' departure. The leader identified, Peter sprung up and onto the ground a healthy margin away from the woman, just in case she was trigger-happy like another red-head he knew. Instead, she surprised him by showing no outward signs of shock at his abrupt, and admittedly ill-planned, appearance and launched straight into a brief introduction.

"Spider-Man, I'm assuming? Not a copycat?" The woman didn't wait for the unresponsive Peter to collect his wits. "Based on those jumps and athleticism, I'm desperate enough to run with the assumption you're not some idiot looking to get killed for fifteen minutes in the murky spotlight. I'm Officer Wells, acting Police Commissioner since Officer Bratton is currently… out of commission. Have you just arrived? What do you know?"

"Sort of," Peter responded, finally caught up to the officer's impressive cognitive speed, "and not much. Bad guys, hostages, little info. Anything you can add will increase how much I can help out."

"I'm not sure we can add much more to that list. We haven't encountered these guys before, so we're treading in unfamiliar territory as far as what to expect," Officer Wells once again started off without a hitch. "At the moment, we've decided to treat this like any other hostage situation until we learn otherwise. About ten to fifteen perps are estimated, with no obvious ringleader. They are using automatic machine guns, so hopefully none of them are superpowered like the guys the Avengers usually deal with. We've been informed that the team won't be able to making it back here for at least another three hours, so our main objective is minimizing casualties and stalling for time. This is their home turf, so the Avengers should be able to end this quickly once they arrive."

"But they aren't here," Peter swiftly objected. "And they won't be for at least three hours! That will be plenty of time for the goons to accomplish whatever it is they're out for and kill off anyone left before making an escape. You may have this place surrounded, but there is no telling what these guys are capable of."

The officer's lips thinned and whitened at the rebuttal, but she nodded nonetheless. "I know. But we have no way to contact anyone in the building. As of yet, we haven't managed to hack into the video surveillance and all phones have been disconnected. Stark included a unique way for our specialists to break into his security in case anything like this ever happened, but even that pathway has been blocked. These guys work quickly and have at least one computer expert among them. Right now we are trying to-"

"Officer Wells!" The excited yell broke the two from their conversation, and Peter realized that while they'd been in their own world, the rest of the people around them were carrying on in their duties. A young man was gesturing wildly at a wide arrange of computer monitors precariously balanced inside a van's trunk. "I think we finally got something! They're faint, but we've picked up some radio signals coming from the inside. If we could just decode them, we can- wait, what's going on. Crap, crap- no, no, nonononono."

"Jensen, what's going on?" Officer Wells barked, stalking over to the panicking man. Peter followed her lead and took a giant leap onto the roof of the van so he could stick his head down and take a closer look at the screens. However, as soon as he landed, Peter jerked back and tumbled off onto the side of the van as a deafening burst of static from the speakers he landed next to sent shards of piercing fire through his ears and into his brain. Once the pain died down after a few moments and everyone in the area was silent and tightly wound, a voice came from the speakers.

"Hellooooo. Is this thing working? Well of course it is; I'm the one who installed it. Hehe!"

Peter flinched at the words; the voice was just _wrong_. With the combined deranged tone and underlying hardness to the childish dialect and giggle that clearly belonged to a fully grown man, Peter almost wished for the crackling of the static to return.

"So, I was thinking that you people would be thinking, 'gee, what's going on?' And then I thought 'well, I know what's going on, so maybe I should tell them!' I'm very gracious that way. But you guys disappointed me. I leave you plenty of time to make a move, call in reinforcements, do _something_, but no. You sit. And you wait. Like _professionals_. I hired some professionals before, too. They were useless, too. You've failed to accomplish your mission, too. They failed to accomplish their mission, too. I killed them, too. Oh, I may have skipped a step there. Oops."

"Definitely the leader," Peter confirmed quietly to himself as he observed the effect the disembodied voice was having on the gathered officers and pedestrians from his view standing on the van's side middle window. The simple speech patterns coupled with the increasingly morbid subject matter was disturbing a lot of the staff and the crowd, which was probably the intended purpose; although, Officer Wells and other senior members of the force looked like they were just masking anger. Whoever was delivering this message obviously knew what he was doing, and everything in Peter was telling him that this was a guy to watch out for, the most likely orchestrator.

"So, anyways, I just wanted to warn all of you. About the darkness. It's coming. Today. The truth will be told; blood will be spilt; they all will fall. See ya!" The connection went dead.

"Well… damn," Officer Wells broke the silence that had gone on for a solid minute. "All right everyone, back to your stations." Like a well-oiled machine turned back on, the crowd began their uproar again, the police officers resumed calling for order, and Wells turned and made her way back to the group she'd been speaking with before Spider-Man made his entrance.

"Hold on," Peter sputtered, swinging himself off of the van by the side mirror and diving in front of the retreating officer. "'Back to your stations'? Are you not planning on taking any action? We just got a death threat directly from the perps. An invitation to go in and stop them from spreading their 'darkness'."

"That was nothing more than an appeal to fear, and taking measure to analyze or otherwise acknowledge it would be giving them what they want," she replied dully, barely glancing at the squatting figure as she stepped around him.

"But-"

"The police can't be seen giving into terrorism or threats in such an uncertain scenario, no matter our personal feelings on the matter. Anyone acting outside the law, however…" with one final, pointed glance at Spider-Man, Officer Wells began barking orders to the scurrying mass around her.

"I see how it is. Why do they always leave the heavy lifting up to the guy in spandex?" Peter closed his eyes briefly as he concluded that, with the Avengers gone, someone was going to have to figure out what was really going on and stop it. Though his job in the company only dealt with surface appointments and scheduling, Peter knew that there was a lot of dangerous technology and information about topics far more important than the superheroes, stuff that could crash the economy on a global scale or bring about World War III in the wrong hands. The police were doing their part to control the chaos in the area surrounding the building, but they were limited with the actions they could take against the actual threat by protocol and a general lack of knowledge concerning the situation. But Spider-Man, and his trusty sidekick Viral, had no such restrictions.

_I'm not ready. I'm not prepared: emotionally, mentally, and possibly physically. But that doesn't matter, because this is my friends' home being invaded, my city being threatened, and I need to protect them. _

* * *

"Sir, it appears someone has entered the premises."

Fingers paused over the keyboard, then resumed even swifter, as if to make up for the momentary lapse.

"Police?"

"No, Sir. It's a hero, Sir. The one that's been missing, Sir."

"Ah." He smiled. "Gather a few men and give him a _hero's_ welcome. Just be sure not to disturb me."

"Right away, Sir."

* * *

"So we've narrowed down the most likely possibilities to the combat training room, the communal cafeteria, and the storage unit for aircrafts."

_**Yep. The interior schematics of Stark Industries show these to be the top three places that can be easily defended and will hold the entire faculty. If the hostages are being kept together, then this is where they should be. Unless they've been separated. Then the list extends exponentially. **_

"We'll worry about that after Plan A. The cafeteria is on the fourth floor, so we'll begin there and make our way up. For now, focus on getting through the block that's keeping you from fully accessing the rest of Tony's database and is shutting down JARVIS. If we can get him back online, problem solved."

_**Yes. I will try to find Uncle JARVIS. Viral out. **_

With his new conviction, Peter had wasted no time in making a dash for the front doors between a battalion of officers that made no move to stop or otherwise acknowledge him. Once he avoided the bodies, broken glass, and urge to hurl, he made his way into the lobby and was greeted with an eerie soundlessness that was entirely out of place in the normally bustling building.

Convening at the reception desk in search of a sense of normalcy, Peter and Viral began to develop a game plan to take out the perps, preferably one by one, and finding the hostages, preferably all together.

Plan A made and Viral working on Plan B, Peter pocketed his phone and walked over to the elevator. Bracing himself, Peter pulled apart the doors, which offered surprisingly little resistance, and jumped up into the empty shaft. Climbing up the wall and counting the doors so he'd know when to get off on the fourth floor, Peter kept his eyes focused in front of him, and consequently wasn't looking up. This, coupled with the sleek design of the Stark elevators that prioritized efficiency and silence, left only Peter's spider senses to keep him from going splat under the cart the was suddenly above him.

A startled "eep" accompanied Peter's acquaintance with the space between the steel beam tracks as he shoved himself to safety, allowing the cart to fly harmlessly down. Several hard heartbeats later, a scream of shattering glass and chafing concrete loosened Peter's airways enough for him to let out a breath and stick his head out, this time looking up first. He was met with the sight of two shapes shifting out of view dozens of stories above him.

"All right, Viral," Peter gritted out between clenched teeth to his silent companion. "There's been a change in plans." These guys likely belonged to the criminal group, so tracking them down would lead him to the rest faster than randomly searching.

With swift limbs, Peter bounded up the walls and crawled out of the open doors he'd seen the men vanish through, only dimly noting he had long passed the fourth floor. Once more, he was just in time to see them escape left around a corner at the end of the hallway.

The two men led Peter on a long chase, running down corridors, up stair wells, through offices and labs, always managing to stay just ahead of him, until even with his impressive knowledge of the building's layout he wasn't entirely sure where they were headed. Finally, he ducked into a room he'd seen the men's shadows enter, and was surprised when he saw the two standing facing the entrance, steadily gazing at the hero. Peter then took in the rest of the room and realized the men had brought six friends armed with assorted knives and swords. Of course, it had been a trap.

The room they were in was an auditorium repurposed as a training room for the Avengers and the SHIELD operatives who could stand Tony. The walls were lined with weights and exercise equipment, but the center of the room was cleared for sparing. Peter had come in here often to read Natasha, Clint, and occasionally Steve their daily schedules while inconspicuously admiring and analyzing their movements.

One of the men Peter had been following, a bulky fellow who would look more in place at a Soviet gulag, and not as a prisoner, was the first to speak. "Welcome."

Peter suddenly became too busy to ponder the greeting because he was dodging a volley of throwing knives and leaping back to avoid the blades of three men who rushed at him; one coming from the front and one on either side. A quick check confirmed that a strategical retreat wasn't possible as the doors behind him had closed and locked themselves, and then Peter was immersed in the fight.

It was hard to describe the feeling of fighting again after so long of a hiatus, but one thing was for certain; it was as exhilarating and it was painful. His sense were screaming at him from every direction, and Peter allowed them to guide his movements as his body flipped and swiveled to avoid projectiles while his eyes carefully tracked the men in front of him, ensuring their swords passed him by harmlessly.

Not until several minutes of defense had gone by did Peter spot an opening. When the five men had run out of knives to throw, they resorted to the guns they have strapped to their backs, firing in a row periodically as to not hit their own men. They were all moving in tandem, a well-practiced unit that spoke of many years of experience together. However, once Peter recognized the pattern, he began to work out an attack of his own.

The two men at his sides would bring their swords down at the same time, and then the second and fourth men in the row behind would shoot at Peter's chest; he instinctually bent back to avoid the bullets and used both arms to block the incoming blades. Then the man in front of him would bring his weapon down and the first and fifth shooters on the edges would go for Peter's sides once the other two swordsmen got out of the way; Peter had to twist his torso to one side to avoid a bullet and the sword, then spring up in time to avoid the second bullet. Then the middle gunman would take his shot once the man in front of Peter ducked.

The cycle continued three times before he caught on, exhausting Peter and leaving him bleeding as the last bullet grazed his side and his slowing movements allowed the middle sword to leave a shallow cut down his chest. If he wanted to survive, he needed to stop playing their game.

The next time the sequences started itself and the two swords came down on him, rather than bending down Peter launched himself into the air and kicked out both legs in a mid-air splits while raising his arms to avoid the bullets, kicking the swordsmen's face and causing them to drop their weapons.

"Patented Spidey karate kick!"

The third man chopped down at Peter as he had expected, so he closed his legs and caught the down coming sword with his thighs and twisted, forcing the handle out of the man's grip. Bringing his knees up to his chest, Peter grabbed the sword and then kicked his legs back together, springing himself forwards and pushing the man backwards off his feet. Peter landed in time to avoid the final three shots, threw the sword down so its tip embedded into the ground before him and raised both of his hands up.

"Goal! And Spider-Man takes home the win. The crowd cheers… Alright, fine, no cheering."

However, even with their routine destroyed, the men didn't show any signs of panic; instead, they abandoned their weapons and came at Peter all at once. And it quickly became apparent that none of them were amateurs at hand-to-hand combat.

When Peter blocked one fist coming for his head, three more found his solar plexus, hip, and shoulder. His spidey senses were useless at such close range with eight opponents, and he could feel himself turning black and blue as more hands and feet than he could keep track of pounded on his body with more strength than a regular human could muster. He felt close to passing out when a familiar _"bing" _caused most of the men to pause in sober surprise. It was Viral signaling to Peter that he had found something.

"Uh, do you think we could call five?"

Without waiting for an answer, Peter jumped up onto one of the men's shoulders, powered mostly by adrenaline, and was about to spring away when the man caught his ankle and, with an angered roar, swung Peter around and chucked him into the roof. Through the roof, actually. Through several roofs, to be precise.

Peter groaned as he felt himself break through metal and plaster multiple time over until his momentum slowed and he only bashed onto the roof instead of through it and fell to the floor, weakly pulling himself to the side so he didn't fall back down the holes he had made the first time around.

"What- oh, those inept insects! I recruit the best of the best, so they say, engineered to be unbeatable, and they _still _can't follow a single order I give them? Is it me? No, of course not. Weeks of planning, almost _ruined…_"

Slowly raising his head, Peter glanced around the room he ended up in. It was Tony's office, the original one in the exact center of the building that Peter had only entered once to deliver coffee before being shooed out. Tony's large desk had been cleared of its usual clutter and a single laptop had taken its place. Seated at the desk was a thin man with greasy rumpled hair, one who had the look of a computer programmer that spent most of his time behind a screen.

A high pitched beeping sound began to spike into Peter's head, and he clutched it as an excited voice rose up.

"Keylogger, I think we've finally found it! The tracker shows its right here in this room, right over there…" the voice trailed off. Peter looked over to see another man pointing at him with greedy eyes. A man that struck Peter as familiar. Suddenly, it connected in Peter's mind.

The man was the one who tried to rob him at the front desk earlier that day before being carted off. The same man who had shot Katy two weeks ago and said that phrase from Viral's database: the truth will be told; blood will be spilt; they all will fall. The same phrase the ringleader had said before over the speakers.

_It's all connected, but how? I've no idea, but I have to get out of here; I have to get Viral out of here. Then we can regroup and-_

"Yoo-hoo." Peter glanced up and realized, to his dismay, that the programmer, Keylogger as the other man had called him, had made his way over to Peter during his inattention. "Thanks for the delivery service. Good night."

A metal boot came down on Peter's head, and with no strength left he slipped into unconsciousness.

~X Hours Later ~

When Peter awoke, the first sensory information he could decipher in his foggy mind informed him that soon he wouldn't be alone anymore. There were dozens of people moving up from lower floors, but the most pressing concern were those rapidly coming down towards him. They were sounds he could recognize; Natasha's breathing, Steve's accelerated heartbeat and Tony's metallic clanking were all audible to his overly sensitive hearing. But, Peter noted, running a hand over his masked face, he was not someone they would recognize as a friend immediately. He'd never had a run-in with the Avengers as Spider-Man before, and his brief entanglements with SHIELD never ended well, so they probably wouldn't trust him.

With pained movements, Peter forced himself to stand despite the soreness present all over his body. Just as he had steadied himself, the Avengers team minus a Hulk came crashing in through the open door, a few widening the entrance since they didn't all fit but came in at the same time anyway.

"Watch the walls!"

"Quiet, Iron Man," Back Widow ordered. She eyed the battered hero standing in the middle of the wrecked office. All presence of the two men that had occupied it was gone, leaving Peter momentarily worried they would jump to a wrong conclusion. "Spider-Man, inactive since the disturbance at the Oscorp power plant nearly five months ago. Reports stated you were seen conversing with police during the hostage situation. Police have neither affirmed nor denied this yet." She turned to her team. "They are searching the area now for civilians; it has been confirmed that the perpetrators have vacated the building through means we are currently unaware of." Black Widow approached Peter. "Please come with us so we can sort out what happened here."

"And whose paying for these repairs," Tony added darkly, his robotic head turning from side to side as he took in the remains of his most secure haven. "I'll take credit or blood."

"Indeed, comrade. Our home had been invaded and pillaged in a coward's manner while we were elsewhere. We will see the villains found and punished," Thor agreed.

Before anyone one else could chime in, everything went dark. The underlying hum of New York City that Peter had become accustom to hearing all his life suddenly cut off, leaving an eerie silence that weighed down the blanket of black and made it suffocating. The only light by which they could see was the beginning brilliance of the rising sun through the glass wall behind Tony's desk, casting dancing shadows over their shocked faces. A moment later, the lights went on, but Peter could tell something was still off.

Natasha nodded her head, and Peter found it disturbingly easy to hear the voice in her earpiece.

"_All power has gone out in New York City. The only exception is Avenger's Tower- your arc reactor is holding up, Stark. We've lost contact with most off our operatives near your team, and with no other electronic signals moving around in this area, we're going to be easy to spot and hack, so we're cutting off communication here. We'll send someone over to your location soon." _The line went dead.

Steve, in his full Captain America garb, turned to Black Widow and Tony "What's happening?"

But Spider-Man was the one to answer, a shudder working through him as he recalled Keylogger's words over the speakers. "Darkness."

Black Widow raised a pointed red eyebrow at Spider-Man. "You seem to be frequently present during city-wide blackouts."

A thought struck Peter, and he was bursting out of the office's huge window and casting his webbing before any of the Avengers could react. One name dominated Peter's mind as he hurried above the streets, weaving his way through buildings: _Aunt May. _

When he arrived in front of his house, Peter wasted no time in climbing up the stairs and opening the front door. His heart stopped in his chest when he saw his aunt laying on the ground at the foot of the stairs.

"Aunt May! Are you alright? Here, let me help you stand." Rushing over, Peter gently squatted down and placed his aunt's arm over his bruised shoulders, assisting her into the living room.

His aunt glanced up at him as he helped her sit down on the couch, all the while whispering apologies and worries, and let out a chuckle. Peter squinted in confusion and concern.

"Silly boy, you've cut it close a few times, but you have never forgotten to change first." He stared at her blankly. "You're still in your veil and tights, Peter."

Peter blinked and then looked down in horror. Sure enough, red and blue spandex was still clinging uncomfortably to his injured body.

"I-I-I can expl-I really can't but-"

"Oh, hush nephew, no need to work yourself up. I've always known."

Peter leaned back, and then hesitantly brushed his hand over his aunt's cheek. "You have?"

"Well, maybe not at first," Aunt May admitted. "But when you started coming home so hurt with no reason, and that Spider-Man fellow was always on the news, and then the Commissioner died, and that sweet girl- the look in your eyes, Peter, the guilt- it was obvious." She pulled off Peter's mask and gently put her hands on his purpling cheeks, making sure he was facing her. "I've been so proud, Peter. I've let you think I don't know, don't worry, but I've been so proud of you all this time, especially when you knew it was too much and you had to stop. Limits are an important thing, Peter. You've got to respect them."

"I know, Aunt May," Peter breathed, staring at the woman who had raised him, who'd protected him even when he didn't know he needed it, in a new light.

"Good." She lightly patted his cheek and then returned her hands to her lap. "I'm fine here, just tripped down the last step when the lights went out and got startled a bit. But I think there are people who need you now more than I do. Need Spider-Man."

Peter nodded and got up. As he did, he thought, _people who need me. I was thinking something similar before I was knocked out. I needed to get out of there, I had to get- Viral. Oh God, Viral! _Peter's hands flew to his belt, but his phone wasn't there. Viral was gone.

"I've got to go," he rushed out to his aunt, getting up and sprinting out the front door, just remembering to grab and put back on his mask before crossing the threshold.

"Peter?!"

On his return trip to Stark Industries, Peter's mind was just as turbulent as the first time, but now he didn't swing through silence and darkness. The city was panicking. Pockets of light flashed under him, whether they were fires or mobile flashlights he couldn't tell, and screams and pleas to a deity and crying floated up to him as he raced back to the last place he'd seen his partner. He only slowed down to a halt once he landed in front of his destination, staled by the sight before of him.

Nick Fury stood in front of the decimated Stark Industries, silhouetted by the entire Avengers team behind him.

"Spider-Man. We need to talk."

* * *

**End Author's Note**: Just a side note: I fully believe that in a real hostage situation police would be more effective, but for plot purposes I made them somewhat more inept then they would have been in reality (disclaimer: _A Crashing Catalyst_ isn't reality).

This fic will probably either be twelve or sixteen chapters, not counting any interludes, depending on how many more stanzas I write. So far we've got:

_From the sky he came,_

_And in this bed he now lies,_

_As chaos tries to take over,_

_It shall not end with a gentle sigh._

_Heroes of the old do gather,_

_Here to fight a mighty foe,_

_But all is not as it seems;_

_In darkness shroud we start the show. _


	10. Interlude: The Two and a Half Weeks 2

**Author's Note: **By request of BlueMoonChaos and due to the overall positive reception, the Missing Chronicles of the Two and a Half Weeks is back with another installment.

A series of deleted scenes from Peter's initial two and a half weeks working at Stark Industries.

* * *

Missing Chronicles of the Two and a Half Weeks: Day 2

Peter whistled as he walked through the hallway containing the animals and avocados being prepped for experimentation, locking each door as he passed them.

"_**Hey, I think you missed that last one," **_Viral said from the headphones Peter had plugged into his phone; it was the easiest way for them to communicate when Peter couldn't feasibly keep looking down to check Viral's responses.

"No, I got it."

"_**Cheeeeck."**_

"All right, fine." Peter backpedaled and tried unsuccessfully to open last door. "See? It's locked."

"_**Can you just, ya know… do it again? Please?"**_

Sighing, Peter inserted the key into the lock, turned it to the left, and then to the right again. "Do you hear that click? It means the door is locked."

"_**Maybe the mechanism is faulty and you unlocked the door when you tried to lock it."**_

Peter tried the handle again and couldn't open it. "Can we move on?"

"… _**Not yet."**_

"Why is this bugging you now?" Peter exclaimed. "We've already done nine doors and you didn't have a problem with those."

"_**Well, there were nine doors, and three times three is nine. This door is the tenth; the outlier. It needs to fit somewhere. Maybe it would help if you unlocked and locked it three times."**_

"Fine." Peter inserted the key once more and turned left, then right. "There: three times."

"… _**It has to be three consecutive times, one right after the other."**_

"All right! Tomorrow, I'm leaving you on the desk when I do this."

"_**Thanks, brother."**_

Peter stuck the key in and turned left, right, left, and right, when someone clearing their throat broke his concentration. Looking up, he saw Bruce staring at him quizzically.

"Dr. Banner," Peter greeted, trying to play casual as he slipped his earbuds out and put them into his pocket.

"So… is it a compulsion?"

Peter blinked.

"You need to check that all the doors are locked, but there's always a little voice in your head saying _'are you sure you didn't leave it unlocked'_?"

Peter nodded his head slowly, tucking his headphones deeper into his pocket; he could faintly hear Viral giggling, _**"**__**I'm**__** the little voice in your head! I knew people would recognize my position one day! I should get a badge or something to make it official." **_He didn't know how well Bruce could hear or whether the Hulk affected him in human form, and he didn't have an explanation for Viral beyond "pay no attention to the software application; he's clinically insane, man, I swear".

Bruce hummed in sympathy. "I've got a thing about my lab equipment, too. Just make sure Clint doesn't find out or else you'll notice every door you pass is unlocked and slightly open."

"Yeah," a voice agreed above them, "make sure that jerk doesn't find out."

Bruce and Peter raised their heads to see Clint poking his head out of an open vent in the ceiling. With a grin, he ducked back in and closed the grate.

"Don't worry; I'll deal with him." With that, Bruce followed under the quiet _"pat, pat"_ in the air ducts out of the hall.

Peter looked back at the door he was in front of, unlocked it, relocked it, and walked away after powering off his phone and the obnoxious giggling. He knew Viral would turn it back on once he got a hold of himself.

Technology with OCD; only Viral.

* * *

Peter stepped into the expansive living room on the top floor, and then promptly stepped back out to safety. He didn't care how epic the excuses Clint may come up with could be; nothing was worth another second of looking at _that_.

Tomorrow morning, after the image was buried under hours of mindless TV and the noises drowned out by headphones set on maximum volume, he'd call the exterminators.

* * *

"So there was this fire-pit, right? Fire-pit, animal-pit at the zoo, same thing. And then there was this gasoline tank next it. Half full. Like, come on, who wouldn't have done what I did? Animal Control? No, they came in later. You understand, don't you Gerald?"

Peter walked through the room and into the next, barely sparing a glance at the lone occupant staring forlornly at a sloppy smiley face on the wall Peter was going to assume was drawn with a red drippy sharpie.

"Mr. Wade, please calm down. We just need you to-"

"No, no, this is all a big misunderstanding! Voices? What voices? There are no voices here- I said shut up! You think you can do a better job? Well toooo bad, 'cause I've got the body. Not. You. No, it's alright, I still love you, just not him. We're taking a break. But, _we_ are still good."

"Please, if you could just-"

"Oh God, one of his restraints came loose!"

"Honeeeey, I'm home!"

"No, not the eyes!"

"The inhumanity of it all!"

"Everything seems in order," Peter muttered to himself, nodding his head down slightly to get a better look at the scribbling he was making on his clipboard as he continued to the last set of blank boxes that needed checking. A syringe passed over his head harmlessly and landed in the black eyeholes of an otherwise red mask. The patient giggled once, then fell backwards onto a white bed.

Peter walked into the last room.

"The universe is… spinning. I am a butterfly. I will transform me and those around me. Into something more. I am… God. It's all clear now."

The man was strapped down safely and his IV drip was full. Check and check.

Peter allowed his shoulders to sag in relief as he crossed off the last box on the list. Job finished, he took the elevator up to the main floor and started packing up his possessions. His final stop was to turn in the completed documents; he ran into his boss at the door.

"You should really hire a professional for this kind of thing, Tony. Or at least ask me to do it earlier in my shift. I'm so tired right now, I can't even remember what I wrote down. Or what I saw for that matter. Wait a minute…"

The two stared at each other.

"Do you think that's a bad sign?"

Toy shrugged. "I'm sure its fine. The routine check-up of the psych ward it just that: a routine. Nothing ever really happens down there. Unless Deadpool signed in for a stay again."

"…"

"He likes our five-star customer service and cotton candy flavored pills. SHIELD likes to know where he is."

"… Ok. Yeah, don't remember seeing him. He's kind of distinctive, you know?"

"Great, then we're fine."

* * *

"_She's perfect, brother! Perfect! Kind, curvy, sweet and strong, always has sugar and milk nearby- I could go on forever!"_

"Yeah, I believe it. It's already been five hours," Peter muttered as he shuffled around the papers on his desk, trying to find Natasha's last mission report. They were supposed to turn them directly in to SHIELD or Agent Coulson themselves, but more often than not just left them on Peter's desk. He didn't mind since it gave him the opportunity to make a few edits. He'd gotten a lot of calls from Fury. All of them went to voicemail. Peter listened to them when he got bored or needed inspiration.

"_Our love will last an eternity, I just know it."_

"…"

~ Five Days Later ~

"_How could he just- she was so young! There one second, gone the next!"_

"There, there, buddy."

"_My one love, destroyed in a collision of steel and malice. Ephemeral, so short our time together. She will be avenged! I swear on your human life. My life is endless. I think. But it's nothing without __**her**__!" _

Peter sighed as he continued to console his heartbroken cyber-friend. He knew Viral's fling would only end in heartbreak. Tony's coffee makers never lasted longer than a week due to the combination of Hulk's temper, Clint's caffeine addiction, and Thor's big hammer and frustration with modern technology. Viral wouldn't be forgiving the well-meaning god for some time. Even Peter would miss the expresso machine- the model had endured longer than most of the others.

"_No more coffee for a while, okay?"_

"Of course."

* * *

**End Author's Note: **Hehe, I don't know if I'll be doing another one of these, but it sure was fun to write after the drama in last chapter.


End file.
